rJk. 


\U^ 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 

IN  MEMORY  OF 

Helen  Clinton 


PRESENTED  BY 

Kathryn  and  Edna  Greiner 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2008  with  funding  from 

IVIicrosoft  Corporation 


http://www.archive.org/details/firmilianorstudeOOayto 


FIRMILIAN 


STUDENT  OF  BADAJOZ 


"SPASMODIC"    TRAGEDY 

BY     T  .     P  K  R  C  Y     JONES 


REDFIELD 

no  &  112  NASSAU  STREET,  NEW  YORK 
1855 


PREFACE. 


As  several  passages  of  the  following  P<:)em 
liave  appeared  in  the  pages  of  periodicals,  I 
consider  it  an  act  of  justice  to  inyself  to  lay 
the  whole  before  the  public.  1  am  not  at  all 
deterred  by  tlie  fear  of  hostile  criticis)n — I  be- 
lieve that  no  really  good  thing  was  ever  injured 
by  criticism  ;  and,  so  far  from  entertaining  an 
angry  feeling  towards  the  gentlemen  wlio  have 
noticed  my  work,  I  thank  them  for  having 
brought    me    forward. 


81.3991 


IV  PREFACE. 

It  is  a  common  practice,  7io\v-a-clays,  for  poets 
to  appeal  to  the  tender  mercies  of  the  public,  by 
issuing  prefaces  in  which  they  acknowledge,  in 
as  many  words,  the  weakness  and  poverty  of 
their  verse.  If  the  acknowledgment  is  sincere, 
liow  can  they  expect  the  public  to  show  them 
any  favor  ?  If  it  is  a  mere  hypocritical  affec- 
tation, it  were  better  omitted.  And  the  practice 
is  iTnwise  as  it  is  absurd.  AVhat  would  we  think 
of  the  manufacturer  who  should  entreat  us  to 
buy  liis  goods,  because  they  were  of  an  inferior 
kind,  or  of  the  tradesman  who  should  deliber- 
ately announce  that  ids  stock  was  of  a  poor 
quality?  For  my  part,  if  I  conscientiously  be- 
lieved that  my  poetry  was  not  worthy  of  ad- 
miration, I  never  would  commit  the  impertinence 
of  asking  any  one  to  read  it. 

There  has  becTi,  of   late,   much    senseless   talk 


r  K  E  1-  A  C  E  , 


about  "  schools  of  poetry ;"  and  it  luls  been  said, 
on  the  strength  of  the  internal  evidence  afforded 
by  some  passages  in  my  play,  that  I  have  joined 
the  ranks,  and  uphold  the  tenets,  of   those  who 
belong  to  "  the  Spasmodic  School."     I  deny  the 
allegation    altogether.      I   belong   to   no   school, 
except   that  of  nature ;  and  I  acknowledge  the 
authority  of  no  living  master.     But,  lest  it  should 
be  thought  that  I  stand  in  terror  of  a  nick-name 
— the  general  bugbear  to  young  authors — I  have 
deliberately  adopted   tlie   title   of  "  Spasmodic," 
and    have   applied    it    in    the   title-piige   to   my 
tragedy.      It  is    my  firm   opinion    that   all   high 
poetry  is  and  must  be  spasmodic.     Remove  that 
element   from    Lear — from    Othello — from   Mac- 
beth— from  any  of  the  great  works  which  refer 
to  the  conflict  of  the  passions — and  what  would 
be   the    residue  i      A    mere    caput    invrtuitiii.      I 


VI  r  K  ]•;  F  A  c  i:. 

diti'cr  li'uui  those  who  regard  vei'se  iiud  pooti"_y 
as  being  one  and  the  same  thing;  or  who  k)ok 
upon  a  collection  of  glittering  conceits,  and 
appropriate  similes  as  the  highest  proof  uf  poet- 
ical acconi])lishment.  The  oliice  of  poeti'v  is  to 
exhibit  the  passions  in  that  state  of  excitement 
which  distinguishes  one  from  the  other ;  and. 
until  a  dramatic  author  has  learned  this  secret, 
all  the  fine  writing  in  the  wui-ld  will  a\'ail  liiui 
nothing.  Cato  is  perhai)s  the  best- wrii ten  tra- 
gedy in  the  English  langnage ;  and  yet,  what 
man  in  his  senses  would  dream  of  reading 
Cato   twice  ? 

1  hav^e  been  accnsed  of  extravagance,  ])rinci- 
pally,  I  presume,  on  account  of  the  moral  obli- 
quity of  the  character  of  Firmilian.  To  that  1 
re])ly,  tiuit  the  moral  of  a  play  does  not  depend 
upon    the  morals  <>f  any  one  character  depictetl 


PREFACE,  Vll 

in  it ;  and  that  many  of  the  cliaracters  drawn  by 
the  magic  pencil  of  Shakespeare  are  shaded  as 
deep,  or  even  deeper,  than  Firmilian.  Set  liiiu 
beside  lago,  Richard  III.,  or  the  two  Macbeths, 
and  I  venture  to  say  that  he  will  not  look  dark 
in  comparison.  Consider  carefully  the  character 
of  Hamlet,  and  you  will  find  that  he  is  veiy 
nearly  as  selfish  as  Firmiliau.  Hamlet  is  said  to 
shadow  fortli  '•  Constitutional  Irresolution  ;"' — my 
object  in  Firmilian  has  been  to  typity  "Intel- 
lect without   Priiiciple." 

If  the  extravagance  is  held  to  lie  in  the  con- 
ception and  handling  of  my  sul)ject,  then  I  assert 
fearlessly  that  the  same  chai'ge  may  be  preferred 
with  greater  reason  against  Goethe's  masterpiece, 
the  Faust.  I  have  not  considered  it  necessary 
to  evoke  the  Devil  in  my  pages — I  have  not 
introduced  the  reader  to  the  low  bufl:ooneries  ot 


viii  PREFACE. 

Auerbach's  cellar,  or  to  the  Witch  with  her 
hybrid  apes — nor  have  I  indulged  in  the  weird 
revelries  and  phantasmagoria  of  the  Brocken.  I 
do  not  presume  to  blame  Goethe  for  his  use  of 
such  material,  any  more  than  I  should  think  of 
impugning  Shakespeare  for  the  Ghost  in  Hamlet^ 
or  tlic  AVitches  in  Macbeth.  1  merely  wish  to 
show  that  the  "utter  extravagance"  \vhich  some 
writers  affect  to  have  discovered  in  my  play,  is 
traceable  only  to  their  own  defects  in  high  ima- 
ginative development. 

If  I  am  told  that  the  character  of  Firmilian 
is  not  only  extravagant,  but  utterly  without  a 
parallel  in  nature,  I  shall  request  my  critic  to 
revise  his  opinion  after  he  has  perused  the  histo- 
ries of  Madame  de  Brinvilliers  and  tlie  Borgias. 

I  am  perfectly  aware  that  this  })oeni  is  un- 
equal, and  that  some  piissages  of  it  are  inferior, 


PREFACE.  IX 

in  interest  to  others.  Such  was  my  object,  for 
I  am  convinced  that  there  can  be  no  beauty 
without   breaks   and    undulation. 

I  am  not  arrogant  enough  to  assert  that  this 
is  the  finest  poem  which  the  age  has  produced ; 
but  I  shall  feel  very  much  obliged  to  any 
gentleman  who  can  make  me  acquainted  with 
a  better. 

T.  PERCY  JONES. 
Streatham,  July,  1854. 


DRAMATIS  PERSONyE. 


FiRMiLiAN,  l^he  Student  of  Badajoz. 

^   Haverillo,  a  Poet. 

"S   Alphoxzo  D'Aguilar,  \ 

I    Students  and  Friends  of 
U  Garcia  Perez,  V 

y-  \  Firmilian. 

S  Aloxzo  Oliv.vrez,  ; 

' .  Chief  Inquisitor. 

*^  An  Old  Inquisitor. 

J  Balthazar,  \ 

^    Familiars  of  the  Inquisition. 
(l  Gil  of  Santillane,      ) 

>  ^  NicoDEMUS,  Firmiliaii's  Servant. 

Priest  of  St.  Nicholas. 

.  A  Graduate. 

.  i,  Tico  Gentlemen  of  Badajoz. 

Confessor. 

Fabian,  Steward  to  the  Countess  D'Aguilar. 

-  Apollodorus,  a  (CV2<»c. 

I  "^  Saucho,  a  Costermonger. 

( \  The  Countess  D'Aguilar. 

f  ^  Mariana. 

*4  C  Lilian. 

^l  Indlana. 

The  Scene  of  the  Plc.y  is  Badajoz  aiid  iti  neighborhood. 


FIRMILIAN. 


SCENE   I. 

FiRMiLiAN  in  his  study  reading. 

Three  hours  of  study — and  what  gain  thereby  ? 

My  brain  is  reeling  to  attach  the  sense 

Of  what  I  read,  as  a  drunk  mariner 

Who,  stumbling  o'er  the  bulwark,  makes  a  clutch 

At  the  wild  incongruity  of  ropes. 

And  topples  into  mud  ! 

Good  Aristotle ! 
Forgive  me  if  I  lay  theo  lienceforth  by. 


14  F  1  li  M  I  I.  I  A  X  . 

And  seek  some  other  teacher.     Thou  hast  been, 

For  many  hundred  years,  the  hane  and  curse 

Of  all  the  buddmg  intellect  of  man. 

Thine  earliest  pupil,  iVlexander — he 

The  most  impulsive  and  tumultuous  sprite 

That  ever  spurned  old  systems  at  the  heel, 

And  dashed  the  dust  of  action  in  the  eyes 

Of  the  slow  porers  over  antique  shards — 

Held  thee,  at  twenty,  an  especial  fool. 

And  why  ?     The  grand  God-impulse  in  his  heart 

That  drove  him  over  the  oblique  domain 

Of  Asia  and  her  kingdoms,  and  that  urged 

His  meteor  leap  at  Poms'  giant  throat — 

Or  the  sublime  illusion  of  the  sense 

Which  gave  to  Thais  that  tremendous  torch 

Whence  whole  Persepolis  was  set  on  lire — 

Was  never  kindled  surely  Ity  such  trash 

As  I,  this  night,  have  heaj^ed  upon  my  brain  ! 

Jlence,  vile  impostor  ! 

[I'll IK /s  away  the  hook. 


f  I  K  M  I  I.  I  A  N  .  15 

Who  sliall  take  liis  place  ? 
What  hoary  dotard  of  antiquity 
Shall  I  invite  to  dip  his  chinisy  foot 
Within  the  limpid  fountain  of  my  mind, 
And  stamp  it  into  foulness  ?     Let  me  see — 
Following  Salerno's  doctrine,  human  lore 
Divides  itself  into  three  faculties. 
The  Eden  rivers  of  the  intellect. 
There's  Law,  Theology,  and  Medicine. 
And  all  beyond  their  course  is  barren  ground. 
So  say  the  Academics  :  and  they're  right, 
If  learning's  to  be  measured  by  its  gains. 
The  lawyer  speaks  no  word  without  a  fee — 
The  Priest  demands  his  tithes,  and  will  not  sing 
A  gratis  mass  to  help  his  brother's  soul. 
The  purgatorial  key  is  made  of  gold : 
None  else  will  fit  the  wards  ; — and  for  the  Doctor, 
The  good  kind  man  who  lingers  by  your  couch. 
Compounds  you  pills  and  potions,  feels  your  pulse. 
And  takes  especial  notir-c^  of  vonr  tongue. 


16  F  1  K  M   I  I.  I   A  N. 

If  you  allow  him  once  to  leave  the  room 
Without  the  proper  greasing  of  his  palm, 
Look  out  for  Azrael ! 

So,  then,  these  three 
Maintain  the  sole  possession  of  the  schools , 
Whilst,  out  of  doors,  amidst  the  sleet  and  rain. 
Thin-garbed  Philosophy  sits  shivering  down, 
And  shares  a  mouldy  crust  with  Poetry  ! 

And  shall  I  then  take  Celsus  for  my  guide, 

Confound  my  brain  with  dull  Justinian's  tomes. 

Or  stir  the  dust  that  lies  o'er  Augustine  ? 

Not  I,  in  faith  !     I've  leaped  into  the  air, 

And  clove  my  way  through  ether,  like  a  bird 

That  flits  beneath  the  glimpses  of  the  moon, 

Ilight  eastward,  till  1  lighted  at  the  foot 

Of  holy  Helicon,  and  drank  my  iill 

At  the  clear  spout  of  Aganippe's  stream. 

Pve  rolled  my  limbs  in  ecstasy  along 

The  self-same  turf  nii  which  old  Homer  lay 


FI  KM  I  L  I  AN  .  17 

That  night  he  dreamed  of  Helen  and  of  Troy  : 

And  I  have  heard,  at  midnight,  the  sweet  strains 

Corne  quiring  from  the  hill-top,  where,  enshrined 

In  the  rich  foldings  of  a  silver  cloud, 

The  Muses  sang  Apollo  into  sleep. 

Then  came  the  voice  of  universal  Pan, 

The  dread  earth-whisper,  booming  in  mine  ear — 

"  Rise  up,  Firmilian — rise  in  might !"  it  said  ; 

"  Great  youth,  baptized  to  song  !     Be  it  thy  task, 

Out  of  the  jarring  discords  of  the  world. 

To  recreate  stupendous  harmonies 

More  grand  in  diapason  than  the  roll 

Among. the  mountains  of  the  thunder-psalm! 

Be  thou  no  slave  of  passion.     Let  not  love, 

Pity,  remorse,  nor  any  other  thrill 

That  sways  the  actions  of  ungifted  men, 

Affect  thy  course.     Live  for  thyself  alone. 

Let  appetite  thy  ready  handmaid  be, 

And  pluck  all  fruitage  from  the  tree  of  life, 

Be  it  forljiddeu  or  no.     If  auv  comes 


18  y  I  i:  M  I  L  I  A  i\  . 

Between  thee  and  the  purp(.)su  oi'  thy  bent, 
Launeh  tlion  tlie  iirrow  from  the  string  of  might 
Riglit  to  the  bosom  of  the  ini])ious  wretch, 
And  let  it  ciniver  tlierc  I      l>e  great  in  guilt  I 
If,  like  Busiris,  thou  canst  rack  the  lieart. 
Spare  it  no  pang.     So  shalt  thou  be  prepared 
To  make  thy  song  a  tempest,  and  to  shake 
The  earth  to  Its  fnunchitiDU — Cto  tliy  way  !" 
I  woke,  and  i'ound  myself  in  I'adajoz. 
But  from  tiiat  day,  wiih  iVautic  might,  I've  sti-iveu 
To  give  due  utterance  to  the  awful  shrieks 
Of  him  who  first  imbued  Ids  hand  in  gore,   - 
To  paint  the  mental  spasms  that  tortured  Cain  ! 
How  have  I  done  it^     Feebly.     What  we  write 
Must  be  the  retlex  of  the  tbing  we  know  ; 
For  who  can  limn  the  morning,  If  his  eyes 
Have  never  looked  upon  Auroras  face? 
Or  who  describe  the  cadence  of  the  sea, 
Whose  ears  were  never  o])en  to  the  waves 
Or  the  shrill  wdndinii"  of  the  Triton's  horn? 


¥  I  K  M  I  J,  I  A  X  ,  19 

What  do  I  know  as  yet  of  lioniicide  ? 

Notliing.     Fool — fool!  to  lose  thy  precious  time 

In  dreaming  of  what  mcnj  be,  when  an  act 

Easy  to  plan,  and  easier  to  effect, 

Can  teach  thee  everything  I  What — craven  mind — 

Shrink'st  thou  from  doing,  ior  a  noble  aim. 

What,  every  hour,  some  villain,  wretcli  or  slave 

Dares  for  a  purse  of  gold  i     It  is  resolved — 

I'll  ope  the  lattice  of  some  mortal  cage, 

And  let  the  soul  go  free  ! 

A  draught  of  wine  I     (Drinks.) 
Ha  !  this  revives  me  I     IIow  the  noct;ir  thrills 
Like  joy  through  all  my  frame  I    There's  not  a  god 
In  the  Pantheon  that  can  rival  thee. 
Thou  purple-lipped  Lya^us !     And  thou'rt  strong 
As  thou  art  bounteous.     Were  I  Ganymede, 
To  stand  beside  the  pitchers  at  the  feast 
Of  the  Olympian  revel,  and  to  give 
The  foaming  cups  to  Hebe — how  I'd  laugh 
To  see  thee  trip  up  iron  Vulcan's  heels, 


20  F  I  K  M  I  M  A  N  . 

Prostrate  old  Neptune,  and  fling  bullying  Mars, 
With  all  bis  weigbt  of  armor  on  his  back, 
Down  with  a  clatter  on  the  heavenly  floor ! 
Not  Jove  himself  dare  risk  a  fall  with  thee, 
Lord  of  the  panthers  !     Lo,  I  drink  again, 
And  the  high  purpose  of  my  soul  grows  Arm, 
As  the  sweet  venom  circles  in  my  veins — 
It  is  resolved  !     Come,  then,  mysterious  Guilt, 
Thou  raven-mother,  come — and  fill  my  cup 
With  thy  black  beverage  !     I  am  sworn  to  thee, 
And  will  not  falter  ! 

But  the  victim?     That 
Requires  a  pause  of  thought — 

I  must  begin 
With  some  one  dear  to  me,  or  else  the  deed 
Would  lose  its  flavor  and  its  poignancy. 
Now,  let  me  see.     There's  Lilian,  pretty  maid— 
The  tender,  blusliing,  yielding  Lilian- 
She  loves  me  but  too  well.     What  if  I  saved 
Her  young  existence  fruui  all  future  throes, 


F  I  R  M  I  r,  I  A  N  ,  21 

And  laid  her  pallid  on  an  early  bier  ? 
Why,  that  were  mercy  both  to  her  and  me, 
Not  ruthless  sacrifice.     And,  more  than  this, 
She  hath  an  uncle  an  Inquisitor, 
Who  might  be  tempted  to  make  curious  quest 
About  the  final  ailments  of  his  niece. 
Therefore,  dear  Lilian,  live  I     I  harm  thee  not. 
There's  Mariana,  she,  mine  own  betrothed, 
The  blooming  mistress  of  the  moated  grange, 
She  loves  me  well — but  we're  not  married  yet. 
It  will  be  time  enough  to  think  of  her 
After  her  lands  are  mine  ;  therefore,  mj'  own, 
My  sweet  aflianced,  sleep  thou  on  in  peace. 
Nor  dream  of  ruffian  wrong.   Then  there's  anotlier, 
That  full-blown  beauty  of  Abassin  blood 
Whose  orient  charms  are  madness  !     Sliall  she  die  ? 
Why,  no — not  now  at  least.     'Tis  but  a  week 
Since,  at  the  lonely  cottage  in  the  wood. 
My  eyes  first  rested  on  that  Queen  of  Ind  ! 
O,  she  of  Sheba  was  an  ugly  ape 


22  F  I  R  M  1  I.  I  A  N  , 

Compiired  with  Iiuliaiia  ! — Let  her  pass. 

There's  Haverillo,  mine  especial  friend — 

A  better  creature  never  iVanied  a  verse 

By  dint  of  finger-scanning;  yet  he's  deemed 

A  proper  poet  by  the  gaping  fools 

Who  know  not  nic  !     I  love  him  ;  for  he's  kind, 

And  very  credulous.     To  send  him  hence 

Would  be  advancement  to  a  higher  sphere — 

A  gain  to  him,  no  loss  to  poetry. 

I  think  that  he's  the  man  :  yet,  liold  awiiile — 

oSTo  rashness  in  this  matter  I      lie  hath  got 

Acknowledgments  of  mine  within  his  desk 

For  certain  sums  of  money — paltry  dross 

Which  'tis  my  way  to  spurii.     I've  found  him  still 

A  most  conveiiient  creditor:  ho  asks 

No  instant  payment  for  his  fond  advance, 

Xor  yet  is  clamorous  for  the  usufruct. 

IIow  if,  he  being  dead,  gome  sordid  slave, 

Brother  or  cousin,  who  miglit  heir  his  wealth, 

Should  chnnee  to  stund)l('  on  ihose  ])onds  of  mine, 


F  I  K  M  I  1.  I  A  N  .  23 

And  sue  me  for  the  debt  ?     Tliat  wore  enono-]i 
To  break  the  wanton  wings  of  Pegasus, 
And  bind  him  to  a  stall !     Nor  have  I  yet 
Exhausted  half  his  means ;  it  may  be  soon 
I  shall  require  more  counters,  and  from  him 
I  may  depend  upon  a  fi-esli  supply. 
A  right  good  fellow  is  this  Ilaverillo — 
A  mine,  a  storehouse,  and  a  treasury, 
My  El-Dorado  and  my  Mexico — 
Then  let  him  live  and  thrive  ! 

Are  there  no  more  ? 
O,  yes  !     There's  Garcia  Perez — he's  my  friend, 
And  ever'stood  above  me  in  the  schools. 
And  there's  that  young  Alphonzo  D'Aguilar, 
Proud  of  his  Countship  and  Castilian  blood, 
He  hath  vouchsafed  me  notice,  and  I  love  him. 
And  there's  Alonzo  Olivarez,  too, 
That  mould  of  Hercules,. — he's  near  of  kin 
To  Mariana,  and  his  wealth  accrues 
Solely  to  her.     I  love  liim  like  a  brother. 


24  V  I  U  M  I  I.  I  A  X  . 

Be  these  my  choice.     I  sup  with  them  to-morow. 

Come  down,  old  Raymond  Liilly,  from  the  shelf, 
Thou  quaint  discourse!*  upon  pliarmacy. 
Did  not  Lucretia — not  the  frigid  dame 
Who  discomposed  young  Tarquin  in  her  bower, 
But  the  complete  and  liljei-al  Borgia — 
Consult  thy  pages  I'or  a  sedative? 
Ay — here  it  is  !     In  twenty  minutes,  death  ; 
The  compound  tasteless,  and  beyond  the  skill 
Of  any  eartlily  Icocli  to  recognize. 
Thanks,  Raym«nul,  thanks ! 

How  looks  the  niglit  ?     Thou  moon. 
That  in  tliy  perfect  and  pei-ennial  course 
Wanderest  at  will  across  tlie  iields  of  heaven — 
Thou  argent  beauty,  meditative  orb, 
That  spiest  out  tlie  secrets  of  the  earth 
In  the  still  hours  when  guilt  and  murder  walk — 
To  what  far  region  takest  tliou  thy  way  ? 
Not  Latmos  now  allures  thee,  for  the  time 
When  boy  Endymion  stretclied  his  tender  limbs 


F  I  K  M  I  L  I  A  N  .  25 

Within  the  coverture  of  Dian's  bower, 

Hath  melted  into  fable.     Wilt  thou  pass 

To  Ephesus,  thj  citj,  glorious  once, 

But  now  dust-humbled  ;  and,  for  ancient  love. 

Make  bright  its  ruined  shafts,  and  weed-grown 

walls, 
With  molten  silver  ?     Or  invite  thee  more 
The  still  witch-haunted  plains  of  Thessaly, 
Where,  o'er  the  bones  of  the  Pharsalian  dead, 
Amidst  the  gibbering  of  the  Lemures, 
Grim  women  mutter  spells,  and  pale  thy  face 
With  monstrous  incantation  ?     Wliat !  already 
Shrink'st  thou  behind  the  curtain  of  a  cloud 
E'en  at  my  looking  ?     Tlien  I  know  indeed 
My  destiny  is  sure  !     For  I  was  born 
To  make  thee  and  thine  astral  brethren  quake, 
And  I  will  do  it !     Glide  thou  on  thy  way — 
I  will  to  rest — best  slumber  while  I  may  ! 

{Exit 
•2 


26  F  I  R  M  I  L  I  A  N 


SCENE    II. 
An  Apmctment.    Makiana  and  Haverillo. 

HAVERILLO. 

You  need  not  fear  him,  cousin ;  for  I'm  sure 
His  heart's  in  the  right  place.      He's  wayward, 

doubtless, 
And  very  often  unintelligible, 
But  that  is  held  to  be  a  virtue  now. 
Critics  and  poets  both  (save  I,  who  cling 
To  older  canons)  have  discarded  sense. 
And  meaning's  at  a  discount.     Our  young  spirits, 
Who  call  themselves  the  mastei*s  of  the  age. 
Are  either  robed  in  philosophic  mist. 
And,  with  an  air  of  grand  profundity, 
Talk  metaphysics — which,  sweet  cousin,  means 
Nothing  but  aimless  jargon — or  they  come 
Before  us  in  the  broad  bombastic  vein, 


F  I  R  M  I  L  I  A  N  .  27 

With  spasms,  and  throes,  and  transcendental  flights. 
And  heap  hyperbole  on  metaphor :  [harm  ; 

Well !  Heaven  be  with  them,  for  they  do  small 
And  I  no  more  would  grudge  them  their  career 
Than  I  would  quarrel  with  a  wanton  horse 
That  rolls,  on  Sundays,  in  a  clover-field. 
Depend  upon  it,  ere  two  years  are  gone, 
Firmilian  will  be  wiser. 

MAKIANA. 

Yet  you  leave 
The  point  on  which  my  soul  is  racked  untouched. 
Men  read  not  women's  characters  aright. 
Nor  women  men's.     But  I  have  heard  this  said, 
That  woman  holds  by  duty — man  by  honor. 
If  that  be  true,  what  think  you  of  your  friend  ? 

HAVERILLO. 

Why — honor  is  at  best  a  curious  thing. 
A  very  honorable  man  will  drive 


28  F  I  U  M  I  L  I  A  N  . 

His  sword  into  the  bosom  of  a  friend 

For  having  cliallenged  some  oblique  remark, 

Yet  will  not  stand  on  honor  when  the  road 

Lies  open  for  him  to  his  neighbor's  wife. 

Your  honorable  man  cheats  not  at  cards, 

But  he  will  ruin  tradesmen,  and  will  sign 

A  vast  abundance  of  superlluous  bills 

Without  the  means  to  pay  them.    Honor  I  humph! 

No  doubt  Firmilian  is  lionorable. 

MARIANA. 

A  J,  cousin  ;  but  there's  something  more  tlian  tliat. 
Honor  in  love — How  say  \'0u  ?     Do  you  thiidc 
That  you  can  stand  the  sponsor  for  yonr  friend? 

HAVERILLO. 

1  never  was  a  sponsor  in  my  life. 

And  won't  be  now.     My  pretty  Mariana, 

You  should  have  tliought  of  all  sucli  toys  as  these 

Ere  the  betrothal.     You  have  given  your  word, 


F  I  R  M  I  L  I  A  N  .  29 

And  cannot  well  withdraw.  And,  for  your  comfort, 

You  must  remember  what  Firmilian  is — 

A  Poet.     He  is  privileged  to  sing 

A  thousand  ditties  to  a  thousand  maids. 

Ten  Muses  waited  at  AjdoUo's  beck — 

Our  modern  poets  are  more  amorous, 

And  far  exceed  the  count  of  Solomon  ; 

But  'tis  mere  fancy  ;  inspiration  all ; 

Pure  worthless  rhyming. — Soft  you :  hero  he  comes. 

Enter  Fikmilian. 

FIRMILIAN. 

0  joy  !  to  see  the  partner  of  my  thouglit 
Together  with  the  partner  of  my  soul ! 
Dear  Ha\-erillo  !  pardon  if  before 

1  join  the  pressure  of  my  palm  with  yours, 
I  lay  this  tribute  on  my  lady's  hand. 

HAVERILLO. 

Well,  we'll  not  fight  about  precedency. 


30  FIRMILIAN. 

And  you  have  come  ia  time.     My  cousin  here 
"Was  pressing  me  too  hard. 

FIRMILIAN. 

Upon  what  point  ? 

HAVERTLLO. 

Why,  faith,  to  tell  the  truth— for  I  could  never 
Summon  a  lie  to  meet  an  exigence — 
Nay,  frown  not,  cousin  !— She's  inquisitive 
About  what  men  call  honor.     I  have  done 
My  utmost  to  explain  it. 

FIRMILIAN. 

I  am  glad, 
Dear  Mariana,  that  you  laid  your  doubt 
Before  so  wise  a  judge.     Not  Badajoz, 
Nor  Spain,  nor  Europe,  doth  contain  a  man 
So  stainless  in  his  mind  as  Ilaverillo ; 
And  you  shall  pardon  me  for  saying  this 


FIRMILIAN.  31 

Before  your  face,  for  I've  especial  reason. 
You've  been  to  me  a  true  and  constant  friend. 
When  I  had  need  of  money  ('tis  no  shame 
In  a  poor  student  to  acknowledge  this) — 
You  have  supplied  me ;  and  I  come  to-day 
To  thank  you  and  repay  you.    My  old  uncle. 
The  Dean  of  Salamanca,  has  expired 
Quite  full  of  years  and  honors,  and  has  left 
To  me,  his  nephew,  all  his  worldly  goods, 
Which  are,  to  say  the  least,  considerable. 
Therefore,  dear  Haverillo,  let  us  meet- 
Yet  not  to-day — because  some  time  must  pass 
Ere  I  receive  the  hoards — they  say,  enormous — 
Of  that  quiescent  pillar  of  the  Church- 
But  at  the  very  speediest  point  of  time 
I  can  select,  that  I  may  show  my  friend 
What  love  I  bear  him  for  his  trust  in  me. 

HAVERILLO. 

You  hear  him,  Mariana  ?    Dear  Firmilian ! 


32  F  I  R  M  I  L  I  A  N  . 

I'm  prouder  of  thy  love  tliaii  if  I  were 
The  king  of  Orinus  !     So  your  uncle's  dead\ 
Go  you  to  Salamanca  speedily  "i 

FIRMILIAN. 

If  I  am  summoned,  and  tliey  scud  me  funds, 
I  cannot  choose  but  go — nut  otherwise. 
'Faith,  this  bequest  comes  at  a  lucky  time, 
For  my  last  ducat  slumbers  in  my  purse 
Without  a  coin  to  keep  it  company. 

HAVKKILLO. 

Be  that  no  liindrance.     Here  are  eighty  ducats — 
Take  them.     Nay,  man  ;  is't  kindly  to  refuse  ? 
AVhat  a  friend  })roffcrs,  that  a  iViend  sliould  take 
Without  compulsion,     'Tis  a  petty  loan 
To  be  repaid  at  your  convenience — 
You'll  vex  me  otherwise. 


FIRMILIAN.  33 

FIEMILlAJSr. 

I'd  rather  dash 
My  hand,  like  Sccevola,  into  the  flame, 
Than  vex  my  Haverillo  !     O  dear  heaven ; 
If  those  who  rail  at  human  nature  knew 
How  many  kindly  deeds  each  hour  brings  forth — 
How  man  by  man  is  cherished  and  sustained — 
They'd  leave  their  carping.     I  will  take  your  offer, 
And  hail  it  as  the  earliest  drop  of  wealth, 
So  soon  to  ripen  to  a  glorious  shower. 
What  says  my  Mariana  ? 

MARIANA. 

That  she  loves  you 
More  for  your  yielding  to  your  friend's  desire, 
Than  if  you  held  by  pride. 

HAVEKILLO. 


Well  put,  sweet  cousin ! 


34  FIRMILIAN. 

But,  dear  Firmilian,  what  hath  chanced  of  late, 

To  make  you  such  a  hermit  ?     You  were  once 

Gay  as  the  lark,  and  jocund  as  the  bee  ; 

First  in  good-fellowship,  and  ever  prone 

To  wing  occasion  with  a  merry  jest. 

Now  you  are  grave  and  moody,  and  there  hangs 

A  cloud  of  mystery  about  your  brow  ; 

You  look  like  one  that  wrestles  with  a  thought 

And  cannot  fling  it  down.     Is't  poetry 

Hath  brought  you  to  this  pass  ?   Plow  come  you  on 

"With  your  intended  tragedy  on  Cain? 

FIRMILIAN. 

O,  that's  abandoned  (juito  !     Tlie  subject  was 
Too  gloomy  for  my  handling  ;  and  perhaps, 
Out  of  absorption  of  my  intellect. 
It  threw  a  shade  on  my  behavior. 
Henceforward  I'll  be  genial — take  my  place 
With  the  large-hearted  men  who  love  their  kind 


FIRMILIAN.  35 

(Whereof  there  seems  a  vast  abundance  now), 
And  follow  your  example. 

HAVEKILLO. 

Well  said,  boy ! 
Anacreon  crowned  his  hoary  locks  with  flowers, 
Blithe-hearted  Horace  chirped  amidst  his  cups, 
Then  why  not  we  ?     Right  glad  am  I  to  find 
You've  done  with  dismals.  Here's  a  little  thing,  now, 
I  wrote  the  other  day,  on  love  and  wine. 
Quite  germain  to  the  matter.     Will  you  hear  it  ? 

FIRMILIAN. 

I  would  not  listen  to  Apollo's  lute 

With  greater  rapture.     But  my  time  is  brief — 

I  had  a  word  to  say  to  Mariana. 

HAVEKILLO. 

I  understand.     You  want  to  speak  of  love 


36  F  I  R  Jil  I  L  I  A  N  . 

Ill  the  first  person?     'Faith  I  was  a  fool 
Not  sooner  to  perceive  it !     Fare  you  well — 
Some  other  time,  be  sure,  I'll  claim  your  ear. 

[Exit. 

MARIANA. 

0  my  dear- love,  what  trouble  rends  your  heart? 
A  loving  eye  hath  instinct  in  its  glance, 

And  mine  discerns  in  yours  a  deeper  Aveight 
Than  yon  light-hearted  creature  could  perceive. 
What  ails  my  own  Firmilian? 

FlKMILIAN. 

Mariana — 

1  think  you  love  me? 

MARIANA. 

Cruel !     Can  you  ask 
'J'hat  question  of  me  now?     Three  mouthy  ago, 
T)csi(h'  the  j^entlo  (iuadiana's  stream. 


F  I  K  M  I  L  I  A  N  .  37 

You  asked  it  in  a  wliisper,  and  I  gave 
No  cold  response. 

FIRMILIAN. 

Three  months,  my  Mariana, 
Are  somewhat  in  a  lifetime,  and  may  give 
Large  opportunity  for  altered  thoughts. 
Three  hours  may  change  a  sinner  to  a  saint — 
Three  days  a  friend  into  an  enemy — 
Three  weeks  a  virgin  to  a  courtesan — 
Three  months  a  conqueror  to  a  fugitive. 
I  say  not  this  in  challenge  of  your  love, 
But  as  a  fixed  eternal  law  of  time 
That  cannot  be  gainsayed.     I  know  you  loved  me, 
When,  by  the  gentle  Guadiana's  stream. 
We  interchanged  our  troth. 

MARIANA. 

And  what  hath  chanced 
Since  then  to  make  vou  doubt  me  ?     Have  a  care 


38  FIRMILIAN. 

Of  what  you  say,  Firmilian !     Women's  hearts 
Are  tender  and  impressible  as  wax, 
But  underneath  there  lies  a  solid  fold 
Of  pride.     You'd  best  be  cautious ! 

FIRMILIAN. 

Lo  you  now — 
She  makes  me  an  accuser !     Mariana  I 
My  own,  my  beautiful — I'd  rather  doubt 
The  lustre  of  the  star  Aldcbaran 
Than  the  firm  faith  of  thine  unbiassed  soul. 
But  I  have  enemies.     It  is  the  fate 
Of  genius  that  it  cannot  spread  its  wings. 
And  soar  triumphant  to  the  welcoming  clouds. 
Without  a  hateful  cawing  from  the  crows. 
Mark  me !  I  am  not  quite  as  other  men  ; 
My  aims  are  higher,  more  resolved  than  theirs. 
And  therefore  they  detest  me.    There's  no  shaft 
Within  the  power  of  calumny  to  loose 
Which  is  not  bent  at  mc.     I  am  not  blind 


FIRMILIAN.  39 

With  soaring  near  the  sun.     I  know  full  well 
That  envious  men  have  termed  me  libertine — 
And,  from  the  frank  out-welling  of  my  mind 
(Which  never  flowed  from  impulse  save  to  thee), 
Have  done  me  fearful  wrong.     And  this  it  is 
That  racks  my  being.    There's  your  kinsman  now, 
Alonzo  Olivarez — he  makes  free, 
I'm  told,  with  my  fair  fame. 

MARIANA. 

You  need  not  fear  him. 
Surely  you  know  Alonzo. 

FIRMILIAN. 

Yes.     I  know  him 
As  a  strong  fool,  who,  in  his  roystering  cups. 
Does  far  more  mischief  than  the  veriest  knave 
Whose  power  of  satire  makes  his  words  suspect. 
There's  no  such  libeller  as  your  arrant  ass ! 
Men  know  he  can't  invent ;  and  what  he  says 


40  F  I  R  M  I  r.  I  A  N  . 

Gains  credit  from  his  sheer  stupidity. 
Heath  he  not  talked  of  me  2 

MAKIANA. 

Indeed  he  has ; 
But  what  he  said  escaped  me. 

FIKMILTAJSr. 

Tlien  I'm  right ! 
He's  Garcia's  mouthpiece  ;  and  I  know  the  man 
That  sets  them  on— Alphonzo  D'Aguilar — 
Who  swears  you  loved  him  once. 

MAKIANA. 

If  he  does  so, 
He's  an  unmeasured  villain  !     What — Alphonzo 
Had  I  ne'er  seen  thy  face,  Firmilian, 
And  did  my  choice  lie  'twixt  a  muleteer 
And  that  stiff  scion  of  Castilian  blood, 


F  I  R  M  I  L  I  A  N  .  41 

I'd  wed  the  peasant !     Do  yon  tell  me  this  ? 
O,  now  I  understand  their  treachery ! 

FIKMILIAN. 

And  therefore  solely  have  I  tried  thee  thus. 
Dear  Mariana,  weep  not !     I  perceive 
What  hath  been  done.     Tis  an  accursed  world, 
Wherein  bright  things  have  little  leave  to  shino 
Without  the  sullying  of  some  envious  hand. 
Henceforth  be  thou  and  I  sole  witnesses 
Against  each  other.     Let  us  shut  the  door 
To  all  the  outward  blasts  of  calumny, 
And  live  by  mutual  trusting.     Dry  your  tears ! 
Or,  if  you  will,  weep  on,  and  I  shall  count, 
For  every  pearly  drop  with  D'Aguilar, 
Making  him  pay  the  ransom  with  his  blood. 
O  that  a  caitiff's  slander  should,  have  power 
To  rack  thee  thus  ! 


42  FIRMILIAN. 

MARIANA. 

'Tis  gone — the  storm  lias  past. 
'Twas  but  a  bitter  liail-sbower,  and  the  sun 
Laughs  out  again  witliin  the  tranquil  blue. 
Henceforth,  Firniilian,  thou  art  safe  with  me. 
If  all  the  M'orld  conspired  to  do  thee  wrong, 
And  heap  its  ugly  slanders  on  thy  head — 
Yea,  though  an  angel  should  denounce  my  love, 
I  would  not  listen.     From  thy  lips  alone 
I'll  hear  confession. 

FIRMILIAN. 

And  the  penance,  sweet — 
Make  it  no  more  than  this. 

O  balmy  breath ! 

[TJie  scene  closes. 


FIRMILIAN.  43 


SCENE    III. 

A  Tavern.    Alphonzo  D'Aguilae,  Gaecia  Perez, 
Alonzo  Olivaeez,  and  Firmilian. 

PEEEZ. 

You  take  it  far  too  hotly,  D'Aguilar— 

All  men  are  fanciful  in  love,  and  beauty 

Is  as  abundant  as  the  open  air 

In  every  region  of  this  bounteous  world. 

You  stand  for  Spanish  beauty— what's  your  type  ? 

Dark  hair,  vermilion  lijjs,  an  olive  tint, 

A  stately  carriage,  and  a  flashing  eye. 

Go  northward :  there's  your  Dutchman — he  prefers 

Blonde  tresses,  dove-like  glances  and  a  form 

Of  most  enticing  plumpness.     Then  the  Dane 

Is  all  for  red  and  blue ;  the  brighter  color 

Pertaining  chiefly  to  the  lady's  hair. 


44  F  I  R  M  I  L  I  A  N  . 

The  duller  to  her  eyes.     For  my  own  part, 
I  love  variety. 

d'aguilab. 

And  so  do  I, 
Within  its  proper  ])Ounds.     No  grander  show 
Could  poet  fancy  in  his  wildest  dreams, 
Than  a  great  tournament  of  Europe's  knights. 
The  free,  the  strong,  the  noble,  and  the  brave, 
Splintering  their  lances  in  a  guarded  list. 
Beneath  a  balcony  of  Europe's  dames. 
Oh,  could  I  sound  a  trump  and  bring  tlicm  here, 
In  one  vast  troop  of  valor  and  renown  ! 
The  gay,  light-lieartcd  cliivalry  of  France, 
The  doughty  English,  and  the  hardj'  Scot, 
The  swart  Italian,  and  tlic  ponderous  Swede, 
With  those  who  dwell  besido  the  castled  Rhine. 
Nor  they  alone,  but  with  tlioni  all  the  llowei's 
That  send  their  odor  over  Christendom — 
The  fair  and  l)lushinii:  beautiw^  of  the  lands 


F  I  K  M  I  L  I  A  N  . 


45 


From  the  far  Baltic  to  our  inland  sea. 
By  him  of  Compostella !  'twere  a  field 
Wherein  a  noble  might  be  proud  to  die. 

FIRMILIAN. 

I  am  not  noble,  and  I'd  rather  die 
At  peace  in  my  own  bed.     But,  D'Aguilar, — 
Are  you  not  too  exclusive  ?     I  have  read — 
For  I  have  been  a  student  of  romance, 
And  pored  upon  the  tomes  of  chivalry — 
How  ere  the  days  of  mighty  Charlemagne 
The  South  did  glorious  battle  witii  the  North, 
And  Afric's  atabals  were  heard  to  clang 
■Among  the  thickets  by  the  turbid  Seine. 
Yea,  I  have  heard  of  knights  of  old  descent, 
Cross-hilted  warriors.  Paladins  indeed. 
Who  would  have  bartered  all  the  boasted  charms 
Of  Europe's  beauties,  for  one  kindly  glance 
Shot  from  the  eyelids  of  a  Paynim  maid. 


46  firmilian. 

d'aguilae. 

Firmilian,  thou  blasphemest !     Never  knight 
To  whom  the  stroke  of  chivalry  was  given, 
Could  stoop  to  such  an  utter  infamy  ! 

FIEMILIAN. 

Your  pardon.  Count !    When  English  Eichard  bore 
Upon  his  bosom  the  Crusader's  sign, 
And  fought  in  Palestine,  he  laid  his  sword 
Upon  the  shoulder  of  a  Moslem  chief 
And  dubbed  him,  knight. 

d'aguilae. 

The  greater  villain  he ! 
I've  heard  of  that  same  Richard  as  a  most 
Malignant  child  of  Luther. 

firmilian. 

Uave  you  so  ? 


F  I  K  M  1  L  I  xV.  N  .  47 

Nay,  then,  chronology  must  do  him  wrong : 
But  that's  no  matter.     Then  you  would  exclude 
All  beauty  from  that  tournament  of  yours 
"Which  did  not  appertain  to  Christendom  ? 

d'aguilar. 

Doubt  you  the  answer  of  a  Christian  peer. 
Within  whose  veins  the  blood  of  old  Castile, 
Undimmed  by  peasant  or  mechanic  mud, 
Flows  bright  as  ruby  ?     Yes,  what  mean  you,  Sir, 
By  asking  such  a  question  ? 

PEKEZ. 

Soft  you  now ! 
The«B's  no  offence.     Let's  hear  Firmilian. 

FIKMILIAN. 

I  knew  a  poet  once  ;  and  he  was  young. 
And  intermingled  with  such  fierce  desires 
As  made  pale  Eros  veil  his  face  with  grief, 


48  FIRMILIAN. 

And  caused  his  lustier  brother  to  rejoice. 
He  was  as  amorous  as  a  crocodile 
In  the  spring  season,  when  the  Meraphian  bank, 
Receiving  substance  from  the  glaring  sun, 
Resolves  itself  from  mud  into  a  shore. 
And — as  tlie  scaly  creature  wallowing  there, 
In  its  hot  fits  of  j^assion,  belches  forth 
The  steam  from  out  its  nostrils,  half  in  love, 
And  half  in  grim  defiance  of  its  kind  ; 
Trusting  that  either,  from  the  reedy  fen. 
Some  reptile-virgin  coyly  may  appear, 
Or  that  the  hoary  Sultan  of  the  Nile 
May  make  tremendous  challenge  with  his  jaws, 
And,  like  Mark  Anthony,  assert  his  right 
To  all  the  Cleopatras  of  the  ooze- 
So  fared  it  with  the  poet  that  I  knew. 

He  had  a  soul  beyond  the  vulgar  reach, 
Sun  ripened  swarthy,     lie  was  not  the  fool 
To  pluck  the  ferblu  lily  from  its  shade 


FIRMILIAN.  49 

When  the  black  hyacinth  stood  in  fragrance  by. 
The  lady  of  his  love  was  dusk  as  Ind, 
Her  lips  as  plenteous  as  the  Sphinx's  arc, 
And  her  short  hair  crisp  with  Nuinidian  curl. 
She  was  a  negress.     You  have  heard  the  strains 
That  Dante,  Petrarch,  and  such  puling  fools 
As  loved  the  daughters  of  cold  Japhet's  race, 
Have  lavished  idly  on  their  icicles. 
As  snow  melts  snow,  so  their  unhasty  fall 
Fell  chill  and  barren  on  a  pulseless  heart. 
But,  would  you  know  what  noontide  ardor  is. 
Or  in  what  mood  the  lion,  in  the  waste, 
All  fever-maddened,  and  intent  on  cubs, 
At  the  oasis  waits  the  lioness — 
That  shall  you  gather  from  the  fiery  song 
Which  that  young  poet  f ranged,  before  he  dared 
Invade  the  vastness  of  his  lady's  lips. 

u'aguilar. 
Spawn  of  Mahmoud  !  would'st  thou  pollute  miue 
ears  3 


50  F  I  li  M  I  L  I  A  N  . 

With  thy  lewd  ditties  i     There  !        {Strikes  him.) 

Thou  hast  the  hand 
For  once,  of  a  true  noble,  on  thy  cheek  ;     • 
And  what  the  hand  has  done,  it  will  defend. 

PEREZ. 

This  is  too  much !  Nay,  D'Aguilar,  you're  \vrong  ! 
Alonzo  Olivarez — rouse,  thee,  man  ! 
Lay  down  the  wine-pot  for  a  moment's  space, 
There's  a  brawl  here  ! 

OLIVAREZ. 

I  wish  you  fellows  would  keep  quiet,  and  not  inter- 
rupt drinking.  It  is  a  very  disagreeable  thing  for 
a  sober  man  to  be  disturbed  over  his  liquor.  I  sup- 
pose you  are  quite  aware  that  I  can  throw  the 
whole  of  you  over  the  window  in  a  minute.  My 
opinion  is  that  you  are  a  couple  of  bloody  fools. 
I  don't  know  what  you  are  quarrelling  about,  but 
I  won't  stand  auv  nonsense. 


FIKMILIAN.  61 

FIRMILIAN. 

You  struck  me,  sir  ? 

d'aguilar. 

I  did. 

FIKMILIAN. 

And  you're  aware, 
Of  course,  of  what  the  consequence  must  be, 
Unless  you  tender  an  apology  ? 

d'aguilar. 
Of  course  I  am. 

FIRMILIAN. 

Madman  !  wouldst  thou  provoke 
The  slide  o'  the  avalanche  ? 


52  firmilian. 

d'aguilae. 

I  wait  its  fall 
In  perfect  calmness. 

FIRMILIAN. 

O  thou  rash  yoTinp;  lord  ! 
Beware  in  time  !     A  liunicane  of  wratli 
Is  raging  in  my  soul — If  it  burst  fortli, 
'Twcrc  better  for  tlice  that  witliin  the  waste 
Thou  met'st  a  ravening  tigress,  or  wert  bound 
In  a  lone  churchyard  where  hy;i,'nas  prowl ! 
I  may  forget  myself  ! 

d'aguilak. 

Small  chance  of  that. 
Words  are  your  weapons,  and  you  wield  them  well ; 
But  gentlemen,  when  struck,  are  not  in  use 
To  rail  like  muleteers.     You  wear  a  sword,  sir  ! 


F  I  K  M  I  L  I  A  N  .  53 


PEKEZ. 

Are  you  mad,  D'Aguilar,  to  court  a  brawl 
Within  the  college  precincts  !  Olivarez — 
Set  down  the  flagon,  and  bestir  thee,  man  ; 
This  must  not  be  ! 

FmMILIAN. 

Nay,  Perez,  stand  thou  back — 
He  hath  provoked  his  fate,  and  he  must  die. 

{Draws.) 

OLH^AREZ. 

I'll  score  the  first  man  that  makes  a  thrust,  over 
the  costard  with  this  pint-pot !  It  you  needs  must 
fight,  fight  like  gentlemen  in  the  open  air,  and  at 
a  reasonable  hour.  What  right  has  either  of  you 
to  disturb  the  conviviality  of  the  evening  ? 

FIKMILIAN. 

A  blow — a  blow  !     I  have  received  a  blow — 


54  F  I  R  M  I  L  I  A  N  . 

My  soul's  athirst  for  vengeance,  and  I'll  have  it! 
Come  not  between  the  lion  and  his  prey. 

OLIVAKEZ. 

To  the  devil  with  your  lions !  I  suppose  you  think 
it  safe  enough  to  roar  now?  Once  for  all,  if  you 
can't  settle  this  matter  without  fighting,  fix  some 
hour  to-morrow  morning,  and  take  your  fill  of  it. 
But  here  you  shall  not  fight.  "What  say  you,  Al- 
phonzo  ? 

d'aguilak. 
lie  hath  the  blow,  so  let  him  speak  the  first. 

FIRMILTAN. 

Agreed  !     Until  to-morrow,  then,  I'll  keep 
My  rage  ungated.     Let  the  hour  be  eight ; 
The  place,  the  meadow  where  the  stream  turns  round 
Beside  the  cork-trees ;  and  for  witnesses, 
Perez  and  Olivarez.     D'Aguilar — 


FIRMILIAN.  55 

If  I  should  fail  thee  at  the  rendezvous, 
Perpetual  shame  and  infamy  be  mine ! 

d'aguilak. 

Agreed  !     And  I  rejoice  to  hear  thee  speak 
So  manfully.     If  I  have  done  thee  wrong, 
I'll  give  thee  satisfaction  with  my  sword  : 
You  show  at  least  a  nobler  temper  now. 

FIEMILIAN. 

Fail  you  not,  D'Aguilar — /shall  not  fail. 

OLIVAEEZ. 

Well — all  that  is  comfortably  adjusted,  and  just 
as  it  should  be.  Let's  have  some  more  wine — this 
talking  makes  a  man  thirsty. 

PEKEZ. 

No  more  for  me. 


66  FIKMILIAN. 

FIRMILIAN. 

Your  pardon — I'd  provided 
(Not  dreaming  of  this  hot  dispute  to-niglit), 
Some  flasks  of  rarest  wine — 'Tis  Ildefonso, 
Of  an  old  vintage.     I'll  nut  leave  them  here 
To  be  a  perquisite  unto  our  host ; 
And,  lest  our  early  parting  hence  should  breed 
Suspicion  of  to-morrow,  let  us  stay 
And  drink  another  cup.     You,  D'Aguilar, 
Whose  sword  must  presently  be  crossed  with  mine, 
Will  not  refuse  a  pledge  ? 

d'aguilak. 

Not  I,  in  faith  ! 
Now  you  have  shown  your  mettle,  1  regard  you 
More  than  1  did  before. 

FIRMILIAN. 

Fill  then  your  cups. 
Nay,  to  the  brim — the  toast  recpures  it,  sirs. 
Here's  to  the  Kinir  ! 


FIRMILIAN.  57 

OMNES. 

The  King ! 

FIKMLLIAN. 

Fill  up  again — 
'Tis  my  last  pledge. 

OLIVAREZ. 

Why  don't  you  help  yourself  ?    The  wine  is  capital. 

FIKMILIAN.      . 

My  goblet's  full.     Drink  to  another  King, 
Whose  awful  aspect  doth  o'erawe  the  world — 
The  conqueror  of  conquerors — the  vast 
But  unseen  monarch  to  whose  sceptre  bow 
The  heads  of  kings  and  beggars ! 

FEEEZ. 

That's  the  Pope ! 

o 


58  r  I  R  M  I  I.  I  A  N  . 

FIRMILIAN. 

]N^o — not  the  Pope — but  lie  tliat  humbleth  Popes. 
Drink  to  King  Death  !  —  You   stare,  and   stand 

amazed — 
O,  you  have  much  mista'en  me,  if  you  think 
That  some  slight  spurting  of  Castilian  blood, 
Or  poet's  ichor,  can  suffice  to  lay 
The  memory  of  to-night's  affront  asleep ! 
Death  hath  been  sitting  with  us  all  the  night. 
Glaring  through  hollow  eye-holes — to  the  doomed 
He  is  invisible,  but  I  have  seen  him 
Point  with  his  fleshless  linger!     ]>ut  no  more — 
Farewell ! — I  go  :  and  if  you  chance  to  hear 
A  passing-bell — be  it  a  comfort  to  you  ! 
At  eight  to-morrow  I  shall  keep  my  time. 
See  you  are  there !  [JEmt. 

PEKEZ. 

I  think  the  fellow's  mad  ! 
1  held  him  oven  as  a  mere  poltroon  ; 


FIRM  I  LI  AN.  59 

But  that  same  blow  of  your's,  Alphonzo — 'faith, 
'Twas  wroDg  in  you  to  give  it — hath  prevailed, 
Like  steel  against  a  flint.     He  shows  some  fire, 
And  seems  in  deadly  earnest — what's  the  matter  ? 

d'aguilar. 
Don't  ask — I'm  sick  and -faint. 

OLIVAREZ. 

I'm  not  drunk,  I  am  sure— hut  I  have  the  strangest 
throbbing  in  my  temples.  Do  you  think  you  could 
get  a  waiter  or  two  to  carry  me  home  ?  I  feel  as 
cold  as  a  cucumber. 

PEREZ. 

My  brain  swims  too.    Hark !  what  is  that  without? 

{The  Fassing-hell  tolls,  and  Monies  are  heard 
chaunting  the  Penitential  Psalms.  Slow  and 
wailing  music  as  the  scene  closes?^ 


60 


F  I  R  M  I  L  I  A  N 


SCENE    IV. 

Cloisters.    Enter  Firmilian. 

This  was  a  splendid  morning !     Tlic  dew  lay 

In  amplest  drops  upon  the  loaded  grass, 

And  filled  the  buttercups  hard  by  the  place 

Where  I  expected  fiery  D'Aguilar. 

lie  did  not  come.     Well — I  was  there  at  lea«t, 

And  waited  for  an  hour  beyond  the  time, 

During  which  while  I  studied  botany, 

And  yet  my  proud  opponent  showed  no  face  ! 

Pshaw !  to  myself  I'll  be  no  hypc)crito — 

If  Eaymond  Lully  lied  not,  they  arc  dead. 

And  I  have  done  it !  {A  2Muse.) 

How  is  this  'i     My  mind 
Is  light  and  jocund,     "i'estcrnight  I  deemed. 
When  the  dull  })assing-bell  announced  the  fate 
Of  those  insensate  and  ])resuiii|.tnoiis  fools. 


1<  I  K  M  I  L  I  A  N  .  61 

That,  as  a  vulture  lights  on  carrion  flesh 
With  a  shrill  scream  and  flapping  of  its  wings, 
Keen-beaked  Remorse  would  settle  on  my  soul, 
And  fix  her  talons  there.     She  did  not  come  ; 
Naj,  stranger  still — methought  the  passing-bell 
Was  but  the  prelude  to  a  rapturous  strain 
Of  highest  music,  that  entranced  me  quite.  - 
For  sleep  descended  on  me,  as  it  falls 
Upon  an  infant  in  its  mother's  arms. 
And  all  night  long  I  dreamed  of  Indiana. 
What !  is  Remorse  a  fable  after  all — 
A  mere  invention,  as  the  Harpies  were. 
Or  crazed  Orestes'  furies  ?     Or  have  I 
Mista'en  the  ready  way  to  lure  her  down  ? 
There  are  no  beads  oi  sweat  uj^on  my  brow — 
My  clustering  hair  maintains  its  wonted  curl, 
Nor  rises  horrent,  as  a  murderer's  should. 
I  do  not  shudder,  start,  nor  scream  aloud — 
Tremble  at  every  sound — grow  ghastly  pale 


62  F  I  K  M  I  L  I  A  N  . 

When  a  leaf  falls,  or  when  a  lizard  stirs. 

I  do  not  wring  my  lingers  from  their  joints, 

Or  madly  thrust  them  quite  into  my  ears 

To  bar  the  echo  of  a  dying  groan. 

And,  after  all,  what  is  there  to  regret  ? 

Three  fools  have  died  carousing  as  they  lived. 

And  nature  makes  no  special  moan  for  them. 

If  I  have  gained  no  knowledge  by  this  deed, 

I  have  lost  none.     The  subtle  alchemist, 

Whose  aim  is  the  elixii-,  or  that  stone 

The  touch  whereof  makes  baser  metals  gold, 

Must  needs  endure  much  faihire,  ere  he  finds 

The  grand  Arcanum.     So  is  it  with  me. 

I  have  but  shot  an  idle  bolt  away, 

And  need  not  seek  it  furtlier.     Who  comes  here  ? 

Enter  a  Pkiest  and  a  Graduate. 

GRADUATE. 

Believe  me,  father,  they  are  all  accurs'd  ! 
These  marble  'mrments  of  tlio  ancient  God^-., 


F  I  K  M  I  I.  I  A  N  . 


63 


Which  the  blaspheming  hand  of  Babylon 
Hath  gathered  out  of  ruins,  and  hath  raised 
In  this  her  dark  extremity  of  sin ; 
ITot  in  the  hour  when  she  was  sending  forth 
Her  champions  to  the  highway  and  the  field, 
To  pine  in  deserts  and  to  writhe  in  flame — 
But  in  the  scarlet  frontage  of  her  guilt, 
When,  not  with  purple  only,  but  with  blood, 
Were  the  priests  vested,  and  their  festive  cups 
Foamed  with  the  hemlock  rather  than  the  wine ! 
Call  them  not  Churches,  father— call  them  prisons ; 
And  yet  not  such  as  bind  the  body  in. 
Bat  gravestones  of  the  soul !     For,  look  you,  sir, 
Beneath  that  weight  of  square-cut  weary  stone 
A  thousand  workmen's  souls  are  pent  alive  ! 
And  therefore  I  declare  them  all  accurs'd. 


PKIEST. 


Peace,  son !  thou  ravest. 


64  F  I  R  M  I  L  I  A  N  . 

GRADUATE. 

Do  I  rave  indeed  ? 
So  raved  the  Prophets  when  they  told  the  truth 
To  Israel's  stubborn  councillors  and  kings — 
So  raved  Cassandra,  when  in  Hector's  ear 
She  shrieked  the  presage  of  his  coming  fall. 
I  am  a  prophet  also — and  I  say 
That  o'er  those  stones  wherein  you  place  your  pride 
Annihilation  waves  her  dusky  wing ; 
Yea,  do  not  nuirvel  if  the  earth  itself. 
Like  a  huge  giant,  weary  of  the  load, 
Should  heave  them  from  its  shoulders.  1  have  said  it. 
It  is  my  purpose,  and  they  all  shall  down  ! 

lExit. 

PRIEST. 

Alas,  to  see  a  being  so  distraught ! 

And  yet  there  may  be  danger  in  his  words, 

For  heresy  is  rife.     Ha  !  who  is  this  '( 


F  I  R  M  I  r,  I  A  N  .  66 

If  I  mistake  not,  'tis  Firniilian, 
Mine  ancient  pupil ! 

FIKMILIAN. 

And  he  craves  your  blessing ! 

PRIEST. 

Tliou  hast  it,  son.     Now  tell  me — didst  thou  hear 
The  words  yon  Graduate  uttered  ere  he  left  ? 
Methought  his  speech  was  levelled  at  the  Church. 

FIRMILIAN. 

I  heard  him  say  all  Churches  should  be  levelled  ; 
That  they  were  built  on  souls  ;  that  earth  would  rise 
To  shake  them  from  its  shoulders  ;  and  he  railed 
At  Mother  Rome,  and  called  her  Babylon. 
My  ears  yet  tingle  with  the  impious  sounds. 

PRIEST. 

Ila — did  he  so  ?     By  holy  Nicholas, 


66  F  I  R  M  I  L  I  A  N  . 

I'll  have  him  straight  reported  !     Dost  thou  think, 
Good  son  Firmiliau,  he  deviseth  aught 
Against  the  Church,  or  us  her  ministers  ? 

FIRMILIAN. 

1  do  suspect  him  very  grievously. 

PEIEST. 

And  so  do  I.     We  hold  a  festival 
On  Tuesday  next,  when  the  Inquisitor 
Is  certain  to  be  present — it  were  best 
Ere  then  to  give  him  notice.     Who  shall  say 
That,  like  another  Samson,  this  vile  Avrctch 
May  not  drag  down  the  ])illar3  of  the  Church' 
And  whelm  us  all  in  ruin  i     1  am  bound 
To  see  to  that.     Son — Benedicite  ! 


FIRMILIAN. 

On  Tncsdav  next,  when  tlie  Inquisitor 


F  I  R  M  I  L  I  A  N  .  67 

Is  certain  to  be  present  ? — Lilian's  uncle  ? 

That  were  an  opportunity  too  rare 

To  be  allowed  to  pass  !     For  this  same  priest — 

He  is  my  old  preceptor,  and  instilled, 

By  dint  of  frequent  and  remorseless  stripes 

Applied  at  random  to  my  childish  rear, 

Some  learning  into  me.     I  owe  him  much, 

And  fain  I  would  repay  it.     Ila — ha — ha  ! 

What  a  dull  creature  was  that  Graduate 

To  blurt  his  folly  out !     If  a  church  falls 

Within  the  next  ten  years  in  Badajoz, 

Nay,  if  a  single  stone  should  tumble  down. 

Or  a  stray  pebble  mutilate  the  nose 

Of  some  old  saint  within  a  crumbling  niche. 

His  life  will  pay  the  forfeit.     As  he  spoke, 

Methought  I  saw  the  solid  vaults  give  way. 

And  the  entire  cathedral  rise  in  air. 

As  if  it  leaped  from  Pandemonium's  jaws. 

But  that's  a  serious  matter.     I  have  time 

To  meditate  the  deed.     These  cloister  walks 


68  F  I  R  M  I  L  I  A  X. 

Are  dull  and  cheerless,  and  my  spirit  pants 
For  kind  emotion.     Let  me  pass  from  hence 
And  wile  away  an  hour  with  Lilian. 

[Exit. 


FIKMILIAN.  69 


SCENE   V. 
A  Wine  Shoj).     Nicodemus  and  Two  Familiars. 

NICODEMUS. 

Not  a  drop  more,  gentlemen,  if  you  love  me  ! 

FIRST   FAMILIAR. 

Nonsense,  man  !  We  have  not  had  as  much  as 
would  satisfy  the  thirst  of  a  chicken.  Another 
stoup  here  !  And  now  tell  us  a  little  more  about 
your  master. 

NICODEMUS. 

Aha,  sirs !     He's  an  odd  one,  is  Senor  Firmiliau. 

FIRST   FAMILIAR. 

A  devil  amonii  the  wenches,  I  su])])()se  ? 


70  F  I  K  M  I  L  I  A  N  . 

NIOODEMUS. 

Mum  for  that,  sir  !  I  hope  I  am  not  the  man  to 
betray  confidence.  What  I  see,  I  behold  ;  and 
what  I  behold  I  can  keep  to  myself ;  and  there's 
enough  on't.  What  have  you  black-coated  gentry 
to  do  with  the  daughters  of  Eve  ? 

FIRST   FAMILIAR. 

Nay,  no  offence  meant,  Master  Nicodemus — you 
are  sharper  than  Pedrillo's  razor  !  What — young 
blood  Avill  have  its  way  !  But  you  are  happy  in 
serving,  as  I  hear,  the  most  jDromising  student  in 
Badajoz. 

NICODEMUS. 

Serving,  sir  ?  Marry  come  up !  I'd  have  you 
know  that  I  am  his  secretary. 

SECOND   FAMILIAR. 

Aha  !  Your  health.  Master  Secretary !  I  fear  mo 
you  have  heavy  labor. 


F  I  K  M  I  I,  I  A  N  .  Yl 


NIC0DEMU6. 


Don't  speak  of  it !  If  you  knew  what  I  have  to 
do — the  books  I  have  to  translate  from  the  Coptic, 
Latin,  Welsh,  and  other  ancient  languages — you'd 
pity  me.  I  sometimes  wish  I  had  never  been 
familiar  with  foreign  tongues.  Learning,  my  mas- 
ters, is  no  inheritance.  And  then,  when  you  come 
to  deal  with  the  Black  Art — 

SECOND    FAMILIAR. 

Enlighten  us.  Master  Secretary — what  is  that  ? 

NICODKMUS. 

The  Black  Art  ?  Here  is  your  veiy  good  health  ! — 
I  wish  you  could  see  my  master's  room,  after  he  has 
been  trying  to  call  up  the  devil !  Lord,  sir  !  there's 
no  end  of  skulls,  and  chalk  marks  on  the  floor,  and 
stench  of  sulphur,  and  what  not— but  I  don't  believe 
that,  with  all  his  pains,  he  ever  brought  the  devil  up. 


72  FIRMILIAN. 

SECOND  FAMILIAR. 

Take  another  cup. — But  he  tries  it  sometimes  ? 

NICODEMUS. 

Punctually  upon  Wcdnesdajs — about  midnight, 
when  the  whole  household  have  gone  to  sleep. 
But  he's  not  up  to  the  trick  :  he  never  could  raise 
anything  larger  than  a  hedge-hog. 

FIRST    FAMILIAR. 

But  he  has  done  that,  has  he  ? 

NICODEMUc 

Of  course !  Any  one  can  raise  a  hedge-hog.  But 
I'm  not  going  to  sit  here  all  night  seeing  you 
drinking.  I  must  go  home  to  translate  Plotinus, 
who  was  a  respectahlc  father  of  the  Latin  Church. 
Take  my  advice  and  go  Ikmuc  too — you  are  both 
rather  drunk.  Whore's  my  l)eaver  ?    Don't  attempt 


F  I  li  M  I  L  I  A  N 


73 


to  oft'er  me  two,  in  case  I  put  the  pliantoui  one  on 
my  head.  I  say — if  there  is  a  drop  remaining  in 
tlic  bottle,  you  might  offer  it  by  way  of  courtesy. 
Thanks,  and  take  care  of  yourselves.  [^Exit. 

FIRST    FAMILIAR. 

What  say  you  to  this  story  ?     A  clearer  proof 
Of  arrant  sorcery  was  never  given 
Unto  the  Holy  office. 

SECOND  FAMILIAR. 

It  is  complete. 
He  raises  hedge-hogs  !     That's  enough  fur  me. 

\_Exeunt. 


74  F  I  R  M  I  L  I  A  N  . 


SCENE    VI. 

Exterior  of  the  Cathedral  of  St.  Nicholas. 

Choir  heard  chauntmg  loithin. 

Enter  Firmilian. 

How  darkly  luiiigs  yoii  cloud  above  the  spire ! 
There's  thunder  in  the  air — 

AVhat  if  the  flash 
Should  rend  the  solid  walls,  and  reach  the  vault, 
Where  my  terrestial  thunder  lies  prepared, 
And  so,  without  the  action  of  my  hand, 
AVhirl  up  those  thousand  bigots  in  its  blaze. 
And  leave  me  guiltless,  save  in  the  intent. 

That  were  a  vile  defraudmcnt  of  my  aim. 
A  petty  larceny  o'  the  element. 
An  interjection  of  exceeding  wrung  ! 


F  I  R  M  I  L  I  A  N 


Let  tlie  hoarse  thunder  rend  the  vault  of  heaven. 
Yea,  shake  the  stars  by  myriads  from  their  boughs. 
As  Autumn  tempests  shake  the  fruitage  down  ; — 
Let  the  red  lightning  shoot  athwart  the  sky, 
Entangling  comets  by  theii-  spooming  liair. 
Piercing  the  zodiac  belt,  and  carrying  dread 
To  old  Orion,  and  his  whimpering  hound  ; — 
But  let  the  glory  of  this  deed  be  mine  ! 

ORGAN  and  CHOIK. 

Sublimatus  ad  lionorcm 

Nicholai  prcsulis  : 
Pietatis  ante  rorem 

Cunctis  plnit  populis  : 
Ut  vix  parem  aut  majorem 

Habeat  in  seculis. 

FIRMILIAN. 

Yet  I  could  weep  to  hear  the  wretches  sing ! 
There  rolls  the  organ  anthem  down  the  aisle, 


76  F  I  K  M  I  L  I  A  N  . 

And  thousand  voices  join  in  its  acclaim. 

All  they  are  happy — they  are  on  their  knees  ; 

Round  and  above  them  stare  the  images 

Of  antique  saints  and  martyrs.     Censors  steam 

With  their  Arabian  charge  of  frankincense, 

And  every  heart,  with  imvard  fingers,  counts 

A  blissful  rosary  of  pious  ])raycr  ! 

Why  should  they  perish,  then  ?      Is't  yet  too  late? 

O  shame,  Firmilian,  on  th}'  coward  soul ! 
Wliat!  thou,  the  poet ! — thou,  whose  mission  'tis 
To  send  vibration  down  the  chord  of  tin^.e, 
Until  its  junction  with  eternity — 
Thou,  who  hast  dared  and  pondered  and  endured, 
Gathering  by  piecemeal  all  tlie  noble  thoughts 
And  tierce  sensations  of  the  mind — as  one 
Who  in  a  garden  culls  the  wholesome  rose, 
And  binds  it  with  the  deadly  nightshade  uj^ ; 
Flow^ers  not  akin,  and  yet,  by  contrast  kind — 
Thou,  for  a  touch  of  what  these  mundane  fools 
AVhine  of  as  pity,  to  forego  thine  aim, 


F  I  R  M  I  L  I  A  N  .  77 

And  never  feel  the  gnawing  of  remorse, 

Like  the  Promethean  vulture  on  the  spleen, 

That  shall  instruct  thee  to  give  future  voice 

To  the  unuttered  agonies  of  Cain  ! 

Thou,  to  compare,  with  that  high  consequence 

The  breath  of  some   poor   thousand   knights  and 

knaves, 
Who  soaring,  in  the  welkin,  sliall  expire  ! 
Shame,  shame,  Firmilian  !  on  thy  weakness,  shame ! 

OEGAN  and  CHOIK. 

Auro  dato  violari 

Yirginos  proliibuit : 
Far  in  fame,  vas  in  mari 

Servat  et  distribuit : 
Qui  tiiuebant  naufragari 

iiautis  opem  tribuit, 

FIRMILIAN. 

A  right  good  saint  he  seems,  this  Nicholas  ! 


78  F  I  K  M  I  L  I  A  N  . 

And  over-woi-ked  too,  if  the  praise  be  just. 
Which  these,  his  votaries,  quaver  as  his  claim. 
Yet  it  is  odd  he  should  o'erlook  the  fact 
That  underneath  this  cliurch  of  his  are  stored 
Some  twenty  barrels  of  the  dusty  grain, 
The  secret  of  whose  framing,  in  an  hour 
Of  diabolic  jollity  and  mirth, 
Old  Kogcr  Bacon  wormed  from  Beelzebub ! 
He  might  keep  better  wardship  for  his  friends ; 
But  that  to  me  is  nothing.     Now's  the  time ! 
]la!  as  I  take  the  matchbox  in  my  hand, 
A  spasm  pervades  me,  and  a  natural  thrill 
.Vs  though  my  better  genius  were  at  hand, 
And  strove  to  pluck  me  backwards  by  the  luiir. 
I  must  be  resolute.     Lose  this  one  chance. 
Which  Incurs  me  to  th'  Acropolis  of  guilt. 
And  this,  our  age,  forgoes  its  noblest  song. 
I  must  be  speedy — . 


F  I  R  M  I  L  I  A  N  .  79 

ORGAN  and  CHOIR. 

A  defunctis  suscitatur 
Fiirtum  qui  coimniserat : 

Et  Judieus  baptizatur 
Furtuni  qui  recuperat : 

lUi  vita  restauratur, 
Hie  ad  fidem  properat. 

FiRMILIAN. 

No  more  was  needed  to  confirm  my  mind ! 
That  stanza  blows  all  thoughts  of  pity  off, 
As  empty  straws  are  scattered  by  the  wind  ! 
For  I  have  been  the  victim  of  the  Jevv's, 
Who,  by  vile  barter,  have  absorbed  my  means. 
Did  I  not  pawn— for  that  same  flagrant  stuff, 
Which  only  waits  a  spark  to  be  dissolved. 
And,  having  done  its  mission,  must  disperse 
As  a  thin  smoke  into  the  ambient  air — 
My  diamond  cross,  my  goblet,  and  my  books? 


80  r  I  K  M  I  L  I  A  N  . 

What !  would  tliej  venture  to  baptize  the  Jew? 
The  cause  assumes  a  holier  aspect,  then  ; 
And,  as  a  faithful  son  of  Home,  I  dare 
To  merge  my  darling  passion  in  the  wrong 
That  is  projected  against  Christendom  ! 
l*itv,  avaunt !  I  nuiy  not  longer  stay. 

[Meit  into  the  vaults.     A  short  j}ause^ 
after  which  he  reapiKars. 
'Tis  done !     I  vanish  like -the  lightning  bolt. 

ORGAN  and  CHOIK. 

Niciiolai  sacerdotum 

Decus,  honor,  gloria : 
Plebem  omnem,  clerum  totum — 

\Jlie  Cathedral  is  hloxon  w^;.] 


F  I  IIM  I  L  I  A  N.  81 


SCENE   YII. 
Saloon.     Pall  and  Cojfin. 

Enter  Countess,  Confessor,  IIaverillo,  and 
Attendants. 

confessor 

Weep  not,  dear  lady — he  is  now  at  rest ! 

ISTor  thundering  cannon,  nor  loud-booniing  drum, 

Nor  braying  trumpet,  nor  the  clarion's  call, 

Nor  rapid  crash  of  charging  chivalry. 

Can  stir  him  from  his  sleep.     For  him  no  more 

Hath  the  lewd  tinkling  of  tlie  amorous  lute 

Behind  a  twilight  lattice,  or  the  wave 

Of  a  light  kerchief  in  a  stealthy  hand. 

Or  lifting  of  dark  eyelids,  any  charm  ! 

No  more  shall  he,  in  joyous  revelry. 

Ply  the  loose  wine  cup,  or  exchange  the  jest — 

And  therefore,  I  beseech  von,  drv  your  tears. 

1* 


82  F  I  It  in  I  L  I  A  N  . 

iiAVEKiLLo.   {Aside.) 

Why,  what  a  ghostly  comforter  is  this  ! 
lie  tells  her  nothing  of  the  yet  to  be, 
But  only  harps  upon  the  aching  past 

CONFKSSOR. 

Bear  up  that  coflln  !     Grief  hath  had  its  scope. 

And  now  'tis  time  to  i)ause.     Bethink  tliee,  lady, 

IIow  it  may  fare  with  thine  Alphonzo's  soul. 

There's  no  rich  clothing  in  the  world  beyond, 

Ko  jewcird  cups,  no  sparkling  costly  gems, 

No  rare  display  of  silver  and  of  gold 

Such  as  your  sideboards  show  on  gala-days — 

But  the  poor  s})irit,  sliivcring  and  alone. 

On  the  cold  sea-beach  of  eternity. 

Must  shriek  for  help  to  those  he  left  behind. 

Say — shall  Alphonzo  plead  to  thee  in  vain? 


F  I  R  M  I  L  I  A  N  .  83 


COUNTESS. 


0  man — man — man  !  Thy  prating  diives  me  mad- 
Thy  hideous  voice  is  loathsome  to  mine  ear, 
Albeit  I  know  not  what  thou  croakest  there  ! 
Set  down  the  coffin — set  it  down,  I  say  ! 

1  have  not  yet  wept  half  the  flood  of  tears 
That  I  must  pour  on  my  Alphonzo's  head. 
There's  a  hot  deluge  seething  in  my  brain, 
And  I  must  give  it  leave  to  flow,  or  die ! 

HAVERILLO. 

Poor  lady,  she  is  greatly  moved  !     'Twere  best 
To  give  her  passion  way.     Bethink  you,  Sir  ; 
A  mother  rarely  will  with  patience  hear 
A  true  reproach  against  a  living  son, 
Far  less  a  taunt  directed  at  the  dead. 

CONFESSOR. 

Who's  he  that  dares  usurp  my  privilege. 


84  F  I  R  M  I  I.  I  A  X  . 

Or  quostiou  my  discretion  ?     Is't  for  thee, 
Thou  silken  moth,  to  flutter  round  the  torch 
Of  conscience,  flaming  in  a  Churchman's  hands 
And  try  to  smother  it?     "What  art  thou,  sirrali  ? 
I  warrant  me  some  kinsman,  with  an  eye 
To  those  vast  lioards  of  molten  vanity. 
Which  can  alone  relieve  Alphonzo's  sotil 
Under  the  guidance  of  our  holy  Church. 
Out  on  thee,  heretic  ! 

UAVEUILLO. 

Presumptuous  priest ! 
Wcr't  thou  unfrocked,  I'd  tell  thee  that  tliou  liest. 

CONFKSSOK. 

Hence,  vile  disturber  of  the  hapless  dead  ! 
Thou  enemy  of  souls — thou  sordid  knave. 
That,  for  a  paltry  pittance  to  thyself, 
AVouldst  bar  the  gates  of  Paradise  to  him 
Who  lies  IxMu^ith  yon  ))all  !   What,  caitiir  wretch  ! 


!•■  I  li  M  I  L  I  A  N  .  85 

Wilt  tliou  again  presnnie  to  answer  me  ? 
Let  but  a  word  escape  thy  tainted  lips, 
And  the  most  fell  anathema  of  Rome, 
From  which  there  neither  is  appeal  nor  cure, 
Shall  fulmine  on  thy  head  ! 

As  for  thee,  lady — 
If  thou  regardest  him  whom  thou  hast  lost 
With  holier  feeling  than  the  tigress  shows 
When,  in  her  savage  and  blood-boltered  den, 
She  moans  above  the  carcass  of  her  cubs — 
Consume  no  more  the  precious  hours  in  grief ; 
Each  hour  is  precious  to  a  soul  in  pain ! 
Give  me  the  keys  of  all  thy  coffered  wealth. 
That,  with  a  liberal  hand,  I  may  dispense 
Thy  hoarded  angels  to  the  suifering  poor. 
Thy  jewels  also — what  hast  thou  to  do 
With  earthly  jewels  more  ? — give  them  to  me  ; 
And  for  each  brilliant  thou  shalt  hear  a  mass 
Sung  for  Alphonzo.     Fie  on  filthy  pride  ! 
Is't  meet  a  widow's  house  should  hold  such  store 


86  )'"  I  K  M  I  L  I  A  N  . 

Of  flagons,  cups,  and  costly  chalices, 
Of  massive  salvers  and  ancestral  Ijowls  ? 
These  are  the  subtile  spider-threads  of  sin 
That  bind  the  soul  to  earth.     Away  with  them  ! 
Thou  hast  no  children  now. 

COUNTESS. 

Thou  crawling  wretch — 
Thou  holy  lie — thou  gilded  sepulchre — 
Thou  most  consummate  hypocrite  and  knave  ! 
How  darest  thou  take  measure  of  my  grief 
With  thine  unnatural  hands  ?  What !  thou  a  priest, 
And,  in  the  hour  of  desolation,  seek'st 
For  ransom  to  be  paid  in  gems  and  gold 
For  a  pure  spirit,  which,  beside  thine  own, 
AVould  show  as  glorious  as  an  angel's  form 
Contrasted  with  an  Ethiopian  slave  ! 
What  are  thy  prayers,  that  I  should  i)urchasc  them  ? 
Ilast  thou  not  fed,  for  twenty  years  and  more. 
Upon  the  liberal  bounty  of  our  house? 


F  I  K  M  I  L  I  A  N  .  87 

Have  I  not  seen  thee  flatter  and  deceive ; 

Fawn  like  a  spaniel ;  and,  with  readiest  lie, 

Make  coverture  of  thine  obscene  attempts 

Upon  my  handmaids  ?     Villain  !  there  they  stand. 

The  blushing  proofs  of  thine  impurity. 

Hast  thou  not  stroked  my  lost  Alphonzo's  head 

A  thousand  times,  protesting  that  no  youth 

Gave  ever  promise  of  a  fairer  course  ? 

And  wouldst  thou  now  retract  that  word  of  thine, 

And,  in  the  presence  of  my  blighted  flower. 

Deny  the  glorious  perfume  that  it  bore  ? 

0  get  thee  gone  !  thou  mak'st  me  wrong  the  dead, 
By  wasting  moments,  consecrate  to  tears. 

In  idle  railing  at  a  wretch  like  thee  ! 

CONFESSOK. 

This  is  mere  madness  !     Think  not  to  escape. 
By  angry  words  and  frantic  declamation, 
The  righteous  claims  of  the  defrauded  Church. 

1  stir  not  hence  until  her  dues  are  paid. 


88  F  I  li  il  I  L  I  A  N  . 

If  thou  withhold'st  thy  keys,  I  warn  thee,  lady, 
That  holy  Peter  will  not  turn  his  key 
For  an}'-  of  thy  race  ! 

COUNTESS. 

Thou  cormorant 
That  screamest  still  for  garbage  !  take  thy  fill, 
And  rid  me  of  thy  presence.     Fabian — 
Show  him  the  secret  chamber  of  the  Cid, 
Wherein  the  ransom  of  the  Moors  is  piled  : 
There  is  the  key — and  let  him  never  more 
Pollute  my  threshold  !     O  my  lost  Alphonzo ! 

{Swoons.) 

CONFESSOK. 

IIo,  ho  !     I  have  it  now  !     The  key,  the  key ! 
Come  quickly,  Master  Steward  ! 

[Exit.     Scene  closes. 


F  I  R  M  I  L  I  A  N 


SCENE    VIII. 


A  Gallery.   At  the  end  an  armed  figure  heari/ng  a 
mace. 

Enter  Confessok  and  Fabian. 

CONFESSOR. 

I  warrant  me  thou  tliinkest,  Master  Steward, 
That  I  was  over  urgent  with  thy  dame. 
There  are  some  natures,  sir,  so  obstinate 
That  mildness  will  not  stir  them,  and  for  these 
The  Church  enjoins  a  wholesome  stimulant. 
Such  is  your  lady. 

FABIAN. 

You  are  learned,  sir. 
And  doubtless  know  your  duty.  Here's  the  chamber. 

CONFESSOR. 

What  mean  you,  I'ellow  ?     Tliore  is  nothinc;  liere 


90  F  I  K  M  I  L  I  A  N  . 

Except  an  cffigj  in  rusted  mail. 

Beware  of  trifling  with  the  Holy  Church  I 

FABIAN. 

Tliat  is  the  guardian  of  the  treasure-room. 

I  see  you  marvel — Listen.     Long  ago, 

Pedro,  the  founder  of  tliis  ancient  house, 

Was  the  dear  friend  and  comrade  of  the  Cid. 

Often  together  in  the  battle-field 

Did  they  two  charge  the  squadrons  of  the  Moor, 

And  mow  the  stalwart  unbelievers  down. 

Seldom  they  spared  a  life — yet  once,  by  cliance, 

Tlie  caliph  of  Baldracca  crossed  their  j^ath, 

llim  they  took  captive,  with  tliree  ])rinces  more, 

And  made  them  stand  to  ransom.     All  the  East, 

As  I  liave  heard — Chaldea,  Araby, 

Fez,  Tunis,  Lidia,  and  the  far  Cathay — 

Was  racked  for  tribute.     From  the  Persian  eulf 

There  came  huge  bags  of  large  and  lustrous  pearl, 

Wiiicli  in  the  miry  bottom  of  tlie  sea 


F  I  R  M  I  L  I  A  N  .  91 

The  breathless  diver  found.    Then  there  were  opals 
Bright  as  young  moons,  and  diamonds  like  stars, 
Far-blazing  rubies,  gorgeous  carbuncles. 
Jacinths  and  sapphires.  And  with  these  there  came 
Ten  camel-loads  of  curious  workmanship. 
All  wrought  in  solid  gold — a  greater  ransom 
Than  ever  yet  was  tendered  for  a  king ! 

CONFESSOR. 

Thy  words  have  oped  a  fountain  in  my  mouth, 
And  stirred  its  waters  !     Excellent  Fabian — 
So  half  this  wealth  accrued  to  D'Aguilar  ? 

FABIAN. 

Of  that,  anon.     When  all  the  heap  was  piled 
Before  them,  then  the  Campeador  said  : — 
"  May  not  my  sin  lie  heavy  on  my  soul 
Upon  my  dying  day  !     For  I  have  broke 
A  vow  I  made  in  youth  before  the  shrine 
Of  San  lago,  never  in  the  field 


92  F  I  R  M  I  L  I  A  N  . 

To  spare  a  heathen.     What  is  done,  is  done — 
May  be  atoned  for,  but  not  blotted  out. 
I  will  not  touch  the  ransom.     Be  it  given 
Entire  to  thee,  my  brother  D'Aguilar  !" 

CONFESSOK. 

No  wonder  Spain  still  glories  in  the  Cid  ! 

What !  are  the  treasures  here  ?  S})eak  quickly,  man  1 

FAUIAN. 

Your  patience  for  a  moment !     When  the  knight 

Found  no  persuasion  could  affect  the  Cid, 

Or  sway  him  from  his  purpose,  then  he  yielded. 

One  half  the  ransom  bought  the  goodly  lands 

Which  still  pertain  unto  the  D'Aguilars. 

The  other  half  lies  in  a  secret  room, 

The  door  of  which  I'll  show  you — you've  the  key. 

But  first  I'll  tell  yuu  why  yon  Qf)\<^y 

Stands  there  to  guard  it. 


FIKMILIAN.  93 

CONFESSOR. 

What  is  that  to  me  ? 
What  do  I  care  about  your  effigies, 
Or  mumbled  stories  of  the  knights  of  old  ? 
The  door,  I  say  ! 

FABIAN. 

Yet  listen — 'Tis  my  duty 
To  make  this  clear.     When  Ruy  Diaz  died, 
The  knight  of  D'Aguilar  obtained  his  arms  ; 
And  in  remembrance  of  the  bounteous  gift 
He  placed  them  there  before  the  treasure-room. 
'Tis  said  the  mighty  sj^irit  of  Bivai* 
Still  dwells  within  that  corslet ;  and  the  mace. 
Which  once  was  called  the  hammer  of  the  Moor, 
Is  swayed  on  high,  and  will  descend  on  those 
Who  come  to  wrong  the  race  of  D'Aguilar. 
I've  heard  my  father  tell,  that,  ere  my  birth. 
Two  reckless  villains  of  Gitano  blood, 
Lured  by  the  rumor  of  thu  treasured  wealth. 


94  F  I  R  M  I  L  I  A  N  . 

Tried,  over  night,  to  force  that  secret  door  ; 
And,  in  the  morning,  when  the  servants  came, 
They  found  a  brace  of  battered  carcases, 
The  skulls  beat  into  pulp,  upon  the  floor  ; 
And  yonder  mace — how  terrible  it  is ! 
Was  dropping  with  their  blood  ! 

OONFESSOK. 

And  dost  thou  think^ 
With  thy  false  legends  to  deter  mc  now. 
Thou  paralytic  slave  ?     Reserve  thy  tales 
For  gaping  crones,  and  idle  serving-men ! 
Can  I  not  make  an  image  stare  and  wink, 
Exhibit  gesture  witli  its  painted  hands. 
Yea,  counterfeit  tlie  action  of  a  saint — 
And  dost  thou  hope  to  scare  me  with  a  lie 
Where  is  the  door,  I  say  ? 

FABIAN. 

Bear  witness,  Saints, 


F  I  K  M  I  L  I  A  N  .  95 

That  I  am  sackless  of  the  consequence ! 
You  are  forewarned — 

CONFESSOK. 

The  door — the  door,  I  say ! 

FABIAN. 

Insert  the  key  beneath  that  pannel  there  ! 

CONFESSOR. 

So — it  is  mine,  all  mine  !     Why,  now  am  I 

A  king  of  Ind,  an  emperor  of  the  earth  ! 

No  haste,  no  haste  ! — I  would  not  lose  the  thrill 

Of  expectation  that  entrances  me 

For  half  the  glorious  heap  that's  stored  within  ! 

Why,  for  a  handful  of  those  orient  pearls 

I'll  buy  a  bishopric.     A  dozen  rubies 

May  make  me  Metropolitan  ;  and  then, 

As  gems  are  scarce  and  highly  prized  at  Rome, 

A  costly  diamond  for  the  noble  front 

Of  the  Tiara,  may  advance  my  claim 


96  F  I  K  M  I  L  I  A  N  . 

Unto  the  title  of  a  Cardinal — 

Let  me  take  breath— Lord  Cardinal — a  Prince 

And  Magnate  of  the  Chnrch  !  What  follows  next? 

Brain,  do  not  lose  thyself  in  ecstasy, 

Nor  swim  to  madness  at  the  thought  of  that 

Which  lies  within  my  reach — Saint  Peter's  chair  ! 

Why,  half  the  wealth  within  this  hidden  vault 

Would  bribe  the  Holy  College,  and  would  make 

Me — me,  the  lord  of  monarchs,  and  the  chief 

Of  all  the  rulers  over  Christendom  ! 

Ha,  ha  !  to  see  the  mighty  world  lie  down 

In  homage  at  my  feet,  and  hear  its  hail 

To  me  as  lord  and  master! 

Is't  a  dream  ? 
Oh,  no,  no,  no !  for  here,  within  my  hand, 
I  hold  the  precious  key  that  shall  at  once 
Admit  me  to  the  temple  of  my  hope — 
Open,  old  wards,  to  liim  wlio  shall  be  Pope  ! 
l^IIe  attempts  to  open  the  Dooi\  and  is  struck 
down  hy  the  Mace  of  the  EOigtj.'] 


F  I  R  M  I L  I  A  N .  97 


FABIAN. 


Right  little  moaning  need  I  make  for  one 
"Who  died  by  his  own  sin !     Poor  prostrate  fool, 
AVhom  warning  would  not  reach  !    Six  feet  of  earth 
Is  all  that  even  Popes  can  claim  as  theirs. 
Thy  span  must  yet  be  less  :  no  funeral  bell 
May  toll  for  thee — I'll  drop  thee  in  a  w^ell. 

\^Exit  with  the  body. 


98  F  I  K  M  I  L  I  A  N 


SCENE    IX. 

Summit  of  the,  Pillar  of  St.  Simeon  Stylites. 

FIRMILIAN. 

'Twas  a  grand  spectacle !     The  solid  earth 
Seemed  from  its  quaking  entrails  to  eruct 
The  gathered  lava  of  a  thousand  years. 
Like  an  imposthume  bursting  up  from  hell ! 
In  a  red  robe  of  iiame,  the  riven  towers, 
Pillars  and  altar,  organ-loft  and  screen. 
With  a  singed  swarm  of  mortals  intermixed, 
Were  whirled  in  anguish  to  the  shuddering  stars, 
And  all  creation  trembled  at  the  din. 
It  was  my  doing — -mine  alone  !  and  I 
Stand  greater  by  this  deed  than  the  vain  fool 
That  thrust  his  torch  beneath  Diana's  shrine. 
For  what  was  it  inspired  Erostratus 


F  I  R  M  I  L  I  A  N  .  99 

But  a  weak  vanity  to  have  bis  name 

Blaze  out  for  arson  in  the  catalogue  ? 

I  have  been  wiser.     No  man  knows  the  name 

Of  me,  the  pyrotechnist  who  have  given 

A  new  apotheosis  to  the  saint 

Witb  lightning  blast,  and  stunning  thunder  knell ! 

And  yet — and  yet — what  boots  the  sacritice  ? 
I  thought  to  take  remorse  unto  my  heart, 
As  the  young  Spartan  hid  the  savage  fox 
Beneath  the  foldings  of  his  boyish  gown, 
And  let  it  rive  liis  flesh.     Mine  is  not  riven — 
My  heart  is  yet  unscarred.     I've  been  t&o  coarse 
And  general  in  this  business.     Had  there  been 
Amongst  that  multitude  a  single  man 
"Who  loved  me,  cherished  me — to  whom  I  owed 
Sweet  reciprocity  for  holy  alms. 
And  gifts  of  gentle  import — had  there  been 
Friend — father — brother,  mingled  in  that  crowd, 
And  I  had  slain  him — then  indeed  my  soul 
Might  have  acquired  fruition  of  its  wish. 


100  F  I  R  M  I  L  I  A  N  . 

And  shrieked  delirious  at  the  tiiste  of  sin ! 
But  these — what  -were  the  victims  unto  me? 
Nothing !     Mere  human  atoms,  breathing  clods, 
Uninspired  dullards,  unpoctic  slaves, 
The  rag,  and  tag,  and  bobtail  of  mankind  ; 
Whom,  having  scorched  to  cinders,  I  no  more 
Feel  ruth  for  wliat  I  did,  than  if  my  hand 
Had  tlirnst  a  stick  of  sulphur  in  tlic  nest 
Of  some  poor  hive  of  droning  humble-bees, 
And  smoked  them  into  silence  ! 

I  must  have 
A  more  potential  draught  of  guilt  than  this, 
With  more  of  wormwood  in  it ! 

Here  I  sit, 
Perched  like  a  raven  on  old  Simeon's  shaft, 
With  barely  needful  footing  for  my  limbs — 
And  one  is  climbing  up  the  inward  coil, 
Who  was  my  friend  and  brother.     We  have  gazed 
Together  on  the  midnight  map  of  heaven. 
And  nuirked  the  gems  in  Cassioi)ca's  hair — 


F  I  R  M  I  L  I  A  N  .  101 

Together  liave  we  heard  the  nightingale 

Waste  the  exuberant  music  of  her  throat, 

And  lull  the  flustering  breezes  into  calm — 

Together  have  we  emulously  sung 

Of  Hyacinthus,  Daphne,  and  the  rest 

Whose  mortal  weeds  Apollo  changed  to  flowers. 

Also  from  him  I  have  derived  much  aid 

In  golden  ducats,  which  I  fain  would  pay 

Back  with  extremest  usury,  were  but 

Mine  own  convenience  equal  to  my  wish. 

Moreover,  of  his  poems  he  hath  sold 

Two  full  editions  of  a  thousand  each. 

While  mine  remain  neglected  on  the  shelves  ! 

Courage,  Firmilian  !  for  the  honr  has  come 

When  thou  canst  know  atrocity  indeed. 

By  smiting  him  that  was  thy  dearest  friend. 

And  think  not  that  he  dies  a  vulgar  death — 

'Tis  poetry  demands  the  sacrifice  ! 

Yet  not  to  him  be  that  revealment  made. 

He  must  not  know  with  what  a  loving  hand — 


102  F  I  KM  I  LI  AN. 

AVitli  wliat  fraternal  charity  of  heart 

I  do  devote  him  to  the  infernal  gods  ! 

I  dare  not  spare  him  one  particuLar  pang, 

Nor  make  the  struggle  briefer  !  Hush — lie  comes. 

Haverillo,  emerging  from  the  staircase. 

How  now,  Firmilian  ! — I  am  scant  of  breath  ; 
These  steps  have  pumped  the  ether  from  my  hings, 
And  made  the  bead-drops  cluster  on  my  brow. 
A  strange,  unusual  rendezvous  is  this — 
All  oUl  saint's  j)illar,  winch  no  human  foot 
Until  scak'd  tliis  hundred  years! 

FIKMILTAN. 

Ay — it  is  strange  ! 

IIAVKUII.LO. 

'Faith,  sir,  the  bats  considered  it  as  such  : 
They  seem  \o  ilourish  in  the  colunni  here. 


F  I  U  M  r  L  I  A  N  .  103 

And  are  not  over  courteous.     Ha  !  I'm  weary  : 
I  shall  sleep  sound  to-night. 

FIEMILIAN, 

You  shall  sleep  sound  ! 

HAVERILLO. 

Either  there  is  an  echo  in  the  place, 
Or  your  voice  is  sepulchral. 

FIRMILTAN, 

Seems  it  so  ? 

HAVERILLO. 

Come,  come,  Firmilian — Be  once  more  a  man  ! 

Leave  off  these  childish  tricks,  and  vapors  bred 

Out  of  a  too  much  pampered  fantasy. 

What  are  we,  after  all,  but  mortal  men. 

Who  eat,  drink,  sleep,  need  raiment  and  the  like, 


104  F  I  R  M  I  I.  I  A  N  . 

As  well  as  any  jolterhead  alive  ? 

Trii&t  me,  my  friend,  we  cannot  feed  on  dreams, 

Or  stay  the  hungry  cravings  of  the  maw 

By  mere  poetic  banquets. 

FIRMILIAN. 

Say  you  so  ? 
Yet  have  I  heard  that  by  some  alchemy 
(To  me  unknown  as  yet)  you  have  transmuted 
Your  verses  to  fine  gold. 

IIAVERILLO. 

And  all  that  gold 
Was  lent  to  you,  Firmilian. 

FIRMILIAN. 

You  expect, 
Doubtless,  I  will  repay  you  ? 


FIEMILIAN.  105 

HAVEEILLO. 

So  I  do. 
You  told  me  yesterday  to  meet  you  here, 
And  you  would  pay  me  back  with  interest. 
Here  is  the  note. 

FIRMILIAN. 

A  moment. — Do  you  see 
Yon  melon-vender's  stall  down  i'  the  square  ? 
Methinks  the  fruit  that,  close  beside  the  eye, 
Would  show  as  largely  as  a  giant's  head. 
Is  dwindled  to  a  heap  of  gooseberries  ! 
If  Justice  held  no  bigger  scales  than  those 
Yon  pigmy  seems  to  balance  in  his  hands. 
Her  utmost  fiat  scarce  would  weigh  a  drachm  ! 
How  say  you  ? 

HAVEEILLO. 

Nothing — 'tis  a  fearful  height  ! 
5* 


106  K  I  K  IM  I  I.  I  A  N  . 

My  brain  turns  dizzy  as  I  gaze  below, 
And  there's  a  strange  sensation  in  my  soles. 

FIRMILIAN. 

Ay — feel  you  that  ?     Ixion  felt  the  same 
Ere  lie  was  whirled  from  heaven  ! 

/ 

UAVERILLO. 

Firmilian  ! 
You  carry  this  too  far.     Farewell.     We'll  meet 
When  you're  in  better  humor. 

FIliMlLIAN. 

Tarry,  sir ! 
I  have  you  here,  and  thus  we  shall  not  part. 
I  know  your  meaning  well.     For  that  same  dross, 
Tliat  paltry  ore  of  Mammon's  mean  device 
Which  I,  to  honor  you,  stooped  to  receive, 
You'd  set  the  Alguazils  on  my  heels  ! 
What!    have  I  read  your  thought?     Nay,  never 
slirink. 


F  I  K  M  I  I,  I  A  N  .  107 

Nor  edge  towards  the  doorway  !    You're  a  scholar ! 
How  was't  with  Phaeton  ? 

HAVERILLO. 

Alas !  he's  mad. 
Hear  me,  Firmilian!     Here  is  the  receipt — 
Take  it — I  grudge  it  not !     If  ten  times  more, 
It  were  at  your  sweet  service. 

FIRMILIAN. 

Would  you  do 
This  kindness  unto  me  '< 

HAVERILLO. 

Most  willingly. 

FIRMILIAN. 

Liar  and  slave  !     There's  falsehood  in  tliine  eye  ! 
I  read  as  clearly  there,  as  in  a  book, 
Tliat,  if  I  did  allow  yon  to  escape. 


108  F  I  K  M  I  I.  I  A  N. 

In  fifteen  minutes  you  woukl  seek  the  judge. 
Therefore,  prepare  tliee,  for  thou  needs  must  die ! 

ilAVERILLO. 

Madman — stand  oflP! 

FIRMILIAN. 

There's  but  four  feet  of  space 
To  spare  between  us.     I'm  not  liasty,  1 ! 
Swans  sing  before  their  deatli,  and  it  may  be 
That  dying  poets  feel  that  impulse  too : 
Then,  prythee,  be  canorous.     You  may  sing 
One  of  those  ditties  which  have  won  you  gold, 
And  my  meek  audience  of  the  vapid  strain 
Shall  count  with  Phoebus  as  a  full  discharge 
For  all  your  ducats.     AVill  you  not  begin  ? 

IlAVERILLO. 

J.eaye  off  this  horrid  jest,  Firmilian  ! 


FIRMILIAN.  109 


FIRMILIAJ!^. 

Jest !     'Tis  no  jest !     This  pillar's  very  high — 
Shout,  and  no  one  can  hear  you  from  the  square- 
Wilt  sing,  I  say  ? 

HAVERILLO. 

Listen,  Firmilian ! 
I  have  a  third  edition  in  the  press. 
Whereof  the  proceeds  shall  be  wholly  thine — 
Spare  me  ! 

FIRMILIAN. 

A  third  edition  !     Atropos — 
Forgive  me  that  I  tarried! 

HAVERILLO. 

Mercy  ! — Ah  !— 
[Firmilian  hurls  him  from  the  column. 


110  F  I  R  M  I  L  I  A  N  . 


SCENE  X. 
Square  helow  the  Pillar. 

Enter  Apollodorus,  a  Critic. 

Why  do  men  call  me  a  presumptuous  cur, 

A  vaporing  blockhead,  and  a  turgid  fool, 

A  common  nuisance,  and  a  charlatan  ? 

I've  dashed  into  the  sea  of  metaphor 

With  as  strong  paddles  as  the  sturdiest  ship 

That  churns  Medusse  into  liquid  light, 

And  hashed  at  every  object  in  my  way. 

My  ends  are  public.     I  have  talked  of  men 

As  my  familiars,  whom  I  never  saw. 

Nay — more  to  raise  my  credit — I  have  penned 

Epistles  to  the  great  ones^f  the  land, 

When  some  attack  might  make  them  slightly  sore, 

Assuring  them,  in  faitli.  it  was  not  T. 


FIRMILTAN.  Ill 

Wliat  was  their  answer  ?     Marry,  shortly  this  : 

"  Who,  in  the  name  of  Zernebock,  are  yon  ?" 

T  have  reviewed  myself  incessantly — 

Yea,  made  a  contract  with,^  kindred  soul 

For  mutual  interchange  of  puftery, 

Gods — how  we  blew  each  otlier  !     But,  'tis  past — 

Those  halcyon  days  are  gone;  and,  I  suspect, 

That,  in  some  fit  of  loathing  or  disgust. 

As  Samuel  turned  from  EIi's  coarser  son, 

Mine  ancient  playmate  hath  deserted  me. 

And  yet  I  am  Apollodorus  still ! 

I  search  for  genius,  having  it  myself, 

With  keen  and  earnest  longings.     I  survive 

To  disentangle,  from  the  imping  wings 

Of  our  young  poets,  their  crustaceous  slough. 

I  watch  them,  as  the  watcher  on  the  brook 

Sees  the  young  salmon  wrestling  from  its  egg, 

And  revels  in  its  future  bright  career. 

Ha  !  what  seraphic  mek)dy  is  this  ? 


112  FI  KM  I  L  I  A  N  . 

Enter  Sancho,  a  Costermonger,  singing. 

Down  in  the  garden  beliind  the  wall, 
Merrily  grows  the  bright-green  leek  ; 

The  old  sow  grunts  as  the  acorns  fall, 

The  winds  blow  heavy,  the  little  pigs  squeak. 

One  for  the  littci',  and  three  for  the  teat — 

Hark  to  their  music,  Juanna  my  sweet ! 

APOLLODOKUS. 

Now,  heaven  be  thanked  !  here  is  a  genuine  bard, 

A  creature  of  high  impulse,  one  unsoiled 

By  coarse  conventionalities  of  rule. 

lie  labors  not  to  sing,  for  his  bright  thoughts 

Resolve  themselves  at  once  into  a  strain 

Without  the  aid  of  balanced  artifice. 

All  hail,  great  poet ! 

SANUJjO. 

Save  vou.  mv  mcrrv  mastei- 1  Xeed  vi»u  auv  leeks 


F  I  K  M  I  L  I  A  N  .  113 

or  onions  ?  Hei'e's  the  priniest  cauliflower,  though 
I  say  it,  in  all  Badajoz.  Set  it  up  at  a  distance  of 
some  ten  yards,  and  I'll  forfeit  my  ass  if  it  does 
not  look  bigger  than  the  Alcayde's  wig.  Or  would 
these  radishes  suit  your  turn  ?  There's  nothing 
like  your  radish  for  cooling  the  blood  and  purging 
distempered  humors. 

APOLLODOKUS. 

I  do  admire  thy  vegetables  much, 

But  will  not  buy  them.     Pray  you,  pardon  me 

For  one  short  word  of  friendly  obloquy. 

Is't  possible  a  being  so  endowed 

With  music,  song,  and  sun-aspiring  thoughts. 

Can  stoop  to  chaffer  idly  in  the  streets. 

And,  for  a  huckster's  miserable  gain, 

Renounce  the  urgings  of  his  destiny? 

Why,  man,  thine  ass  should  be  a  Pegasus, 

A  sun-reared  charger  snorting  at  the  stars, 

And  scatteriiio-  all  the  Pleiads  at  liis  heels— 


114  F  I  R  M  I  r,  I  A  N  , 

Thy  cart  slionld  be  an  orient- tinted  car, 
Such  as  Aurora  drives  into  the  day, 
What  time  the  rosj'-fingered  Hours  awake — 
Thy  reins — 

SANCHO. 

Lookye,  master,  I've  dusted  a  better  jacket  than 
yours  before  now,  so  you  had  best  keep  a  civil 
tongue  in  your  head.  Once  for  all,  will  you  buy 
my  radishes  ? 

APOLLODOKUS. 

No! 

SANCH©. 

Then  go  to  tlie  devil  and  shake  yourself! 


APOLLODORUS. 

Tlie  foul  fiend  seize  thee  and  thy  cauliflowers ! 


F  I  U  M  I  L  I  A  N  .  115 

I  was  indeed  a  most  egregious  ass 

To  take  this  lubber  clodpole  for  a  bard, 

And  worship  that  dull  fool.     Pythian  Apollo  ! 

Hear  me — O  hear  !     Towards  the  firmament 

I  gaze  with  longing  eyes ;  and,  in  the  name 

Of  millions  thirsting  for  poetic  draughts, 

I  do  beseech  thee,  send  a  poet  down  ! 

Let  him  descend,  e'en  as  a  meteor  falls, 

Rushing  at  noonday — 

\IIe  is  crushed  hy  the  fall  of  the 
hody  of  Haverillo. 


116  F  I  R  M  I  I,  I  A  N  . 


SCENE   XL 

A  Street. 

Enter  two  Gentlemen,  meeting. 

FIRST   GENTLEMAN. 

Save  you,  brave  Cavalier  ! 

SECOND   GENTLEMAN. 

The  like  to  you,  sir. 
I  scarce  need  ask  where  you  have  been  to-day- 
All  Badajoz  was  at  the  market-place. 

FIRST   GENTLEMAN. 

You  mean  the  act  of  faith  ?     I  was  too  late  : 
Will  you  vouchsafe  nie  sonic  i-ehition  of  it  ? 

SECOND   GENTLEMAN. 

I've  seen  a  larger  muster  for  the  stake. 


FIRMILIAN.  117 

But  never  was  the  public  interest 

Excited  to  so  vehement  a  pitch. 

Men  did  not  care  for  Jews  or  lieretics, 

Though  some  of  both  descriptions  were  produced. 

The  leading  victim  was  the  Graduate, 

Whose  monstrous  deed  in  blowing  up  the  church, 

Whereby  a  thousand  lives  and  more  were  lost, 

Stands  yet  unequalled  for  atrocity. 

Faith,  sir  !  the  Inquisition  had  hard  work 

To  guard  him  from  his  dungeon  to  the  pile. 

When  he  came  forth,  from  twenty  thousand  throats 

There  rose  so  horrid  and  so  fierce  a  yell 

That  I  was  fain  to  hold  ray  tingling  cars. 

Mothers,  whose  sons  had  jDerished  in  the  church. 

Howled  curses  at  him  :  old  men  shook  their  iists 

With  palsied  vehemence  ;  and  there  were  some 

Who  carried  naked  daggers  in  their  hands, 

And  would  have  hacked  him  piecemeal. 


118  F  I  R  M  I  L  I  A  N  . 

FIEST    GENTLEMAN. 

And  no  wonder — 
'Twas  a  most  horrid  and  unnatural  deed  ; 
My  young  remembrance  cannot  parallel 
A  fellow  to  it. 

SECOND   GENTLEMAN. 

Yet  was  he  quite  calm  : 
A  little  pale,  perhaps,  but  noway  moved 
By  all  their  hooting.     Wlien  he  reached  the  pile, 
He  craved  permission  of  the  Inquisitor, 
To  say  a  word  or  two.     That  being  granted, 
He  turned  him  straightway  to  the  raging  crowd^ 
"Which,  at  his  gesture,  stilled  itself  awhile. 
And  spoke  in  parables. 

FIRST    GENTLEMAN. 

How  mean  you,  sir  ? 
Did  he  confess  his  guilt? 


F  I  KM  I  L  I  A  N  .  110 

SECOND   GENTLEMAN. 

In  faith,  not  he  ! 
IJis  speech  was  worse  than  any  conimination. 
He  curs'd  the  city,  and  he  curs'd  the  church ; 
lie  curs'd  the  houses,  and  he  curs'd  their  stones. 
He  cureed,  in  sliort,  in  such  miraculous  wise, 
That  nothing  was  exemjjted  from  his  ban. 
Then,  sir,  indeed  the  people's  wrath  was  roused. 
And  a  whole  storm  of  cats  came  tumbling  in. 
Combined  with  baser  missiles.     I  was  fain, 
Not  wishing  to  be  wholly  singular, 
To  add  my  contribution  to  the  rest. 
Yet  he  cursed  on,  till  the  Familiars  gagged  him — 
Bound  him  imto  the  stake,  and  so  he  died. 

FIRST   GENTLEMAN. 

You  tell  the  story  very  pleasantly. 

Were  there  no  more  of  note  in  the  procession  ? 


120  FI  11  MI  1,1  A  N  . 

SECOND   GENTLEMAN. 

Tliere  was  a  fellow,  too,  an  Anabaptist, 

Or  something  of  the  sort,  from  the  Low  Countries, 

Rejoicinp;  in  the  name  of  Teufelsdrockh. 

I  do  not  know  for  what  particular  sin 

lie  stood  condemned  ;  but  it  was  noised  abroad 

That,  in  all  ways  he  was  a  heretic. 

Six  times  the  Inquisition  held  debate 

Upon  his  tenets,  and  vouchsafed  him  speech, 

Whereof  he  largely  did  avail  himself. 

P>ut  they  could  coin  no  meaning  from  his  words, 

Further  than  this,  that  he  most  earnestly 

Denounced  all  systems,  human  and  divine. 

And  so,  because  the  weaker  sort  of  men 

Are  oft  misled  by  babbling,  as  the  bees  ., 

Hive  at  the  clash  of  cymbals,  it  was  deemed 

A  duty  to  remove  him.     ITo,  too,  spoke 

But  never  in  your  life,  sir.  did  you  hear 

Such  hideous  jargdii  !     IMic  distnicting  screech 


FIUMILIAN.  121 

Of  wagon-wheel  iiugreased  was  music  to  it ; 

And  as  for  meaning — wiser  beads  than  mine 

Could  find  no  trace  of  it.     'Twas  a  tirade 

About  fire-horses,  jotuns,  windbags,  owls, 

Choctaws  and  horse-hair,  shams  and  flunkeyism, 

Unwisdoms,  Tithes,  and  [Inveracities. 

'Faith,  -^hen  I  heard  him  railing  in  crank  terms. 

And  dislocating  language  in  his  howl 

At  Phantasm  Captains,  Hair-and-leather  Popes, 

Terrestrial  Law-words,  Lords,  and  Law-bringers,— 

I  almost  wished  the  Graduate  back  again  : 

His  style  of  cursing  had  some  flavor  in't ; 

The  other's  was  most  tedious.     By-and-by, 

The  crowd  grew  restive  ;  and  no  wonder,  sir  ; 

For  the  effect  of  his  discourse  was  such, 

That  one  poor  wench  miscarried  in  aflright. 

I  did  not  tarry  longer. 

FIRST    GENTLEMAN. 

Your  narration 


122  F  I  K  MI  L  I  A  X. 

Mcikus  nie  regret  less  heartily  the  chance 

That  kept  me  from  the  show.     Is  there  naui:lit  else 

Talked  of  in  Badajoz  ? 

SECOND   GENTLEMAN. 

Why,  yes,  sir — much, 
And  of  strange  import:  l)ut  the  cautious  lip 
J)ares  not,  as  yet,  give  utterance  to  its  thought 
111  the  full  measure.  Death  hath  been  amongst  us. 
Xot  striking  at  the  old,  but  at  the  young. 
In  most  unusual  fashioii.     Three  young  men. 
All  in  strong  health,  untainted  by  disease. 
Died  in  a  tavern.     Marry,  sir — 'tis  thought 
Their  cups  were  spiced.     But  a  few  days  ago, 
( )ur  most  aspiring  poet,  Haverillo, 
Fell  from  St.  Simeon's  column — no  one  knows 
AVhat  took  him  to  its  top; — another  life, 
I  hear,  was  lost  in  his  abrupt  descent. 
But  no  one  could  identify  the  corpse. 
Then  there's  a  Priest  amissing — these  are  things 


1-  I  K  M  I  L  I  A  ^-  .,  123 

Portentous  in  themselves,  and  very  strange. 
Further,  there's  some  slight  scandal  noised  abroad 
About  the  niece  of  an  Inquisitor — 
I  name  no  names — who  may  have  been,  perchance, 
Somewhat  too  credulous.     'Tis  a  strange  world  ! 
Are  you  acquainted  with  Firmiliau  ? 

FIRST    GENTLEMAN. 

But  slightly,  sir  :  I've  held  a  bet  or  so 

With  him  upon  the  bnll-Hghts.      Why  d'ye  ask  ? 

SECOND    GENTLEMAN. 

Because  (in  confidence),  I  think  'twere  wise 

To  close  your  book  with  liira.     I  heard  it  said, 

Not  many  days  ago,  that  his  old  uncle, 

The  Dean  of  Salamanca,  had  expired. 

And  left  him  all  his  wealth.  Heaven  bless  you,  sii*, 

1  have  a  turn  for  genealogy, 

And,  by  my  reckoning,  he  is  no  more  kin 

To  the  old  Dean  than  to  the  Holy  Pope  I 


124  !•  I  K  M  I  L  I  A  N  . 

I  iniiy  be  wrong,  y<)U  know — Ijut  in  such  matters 
'Tis  prudent  to  be  sure.     There  are  reports, 
On  wliicli  I  sliall  not  dwell,  which  make  me  think 
Firmilian  is  not  safe.     You  understand  me  2 

FIRST   GENTLEMAN. 

Your  kindly  hint  hath  found  a  ready  way 
To  a  most  anxious  bosom  I     Let  us  go 
Towards  the  Prado.     Tve  a  little  tale 
To  tell  you  of  that  same  Firmilian. 

[^Excutit. 


F  I  R  M  I  L  I  A  N 


125 


SCENE    XII  . 

The    Vaults  of  the  Inquisition. 

The  Inquisitors  are  seated  on  tenches.     Behind 
them  Familiars  hearing  torches. 

ThrougJcout  this  Scene,  distant  lyeals  of  thunder 
heard. 

CHIEF   INQUISITOR. 

Would  I  could  bid  you  welcome,  brethren,  here  ! 
This  Avild  derangement  of  the  elements, 
These  fiery  gashes  in  the  vault  of  heaven 
That  stream  with  flame,  and  fright  the  astonied 

earth. 
Are  not  from  natui-al  causes:  Hell  is  loose ; 
The  Prince  o'  the  Air  hath  called  his  legions  up. 
And  demons'  wings  are  madly  flashing  by 
On  hideous  errantry !     There  have  been  deeds 
Wrought  here  among  us  of  so  vile  a  sort — 


126  F  1  K  M  I  I,  T  A  X  . 

Sncli  impious  words  have  iiierccd  tlie  nctlier  world, 
That  the  fiends,  starting  from  their  sulphurous  beds, 
Have  answered  to  the  summons  ! 

OLD    INQUISITOR. 

Such  a  night 
There  hatli  not  been  since  that  in  Wittemberg, 
"When  dannicd  Fanstus  lost  his  wretched  soul. 

CHIEF    INQUISITOR. 

Yea,  reverend  brother,  it  was  even  so, 

7\nd,  much  T  fear  me.  some  in  Badajoz 

Jlave,  by  their  practice  of  unholy  arts, 

Sinned   worse  than    Faustus.     Stand  thou  forth, 

P.althazar  ; 
And  tell  us  what  thou  knowest. 

FIRST    FAMILIAR. 

Most  reverend  sirs, 
I,  and  my  fellow,  Clil  of  Santillano, 


F  I  R  M  I  I,  I  A  N  .  127 

Both  sworn  Familiars  of  this  Holy  office, 
Received  of  late  commission  to  inquire 
Touching  the  trade  of  a  suspected  Jew. 
His  dealing  was  in  philtres,  amorous  drugs. 
Powders  of  mummy,  amulets,  and  charms, 
All  which  we  seized,  and  brought  the  caitiff  here 
"^  o  be  examined.     When  upon  the  rack. 
He,  being  urged  by  subtle  questioning, 
Confessed  that  often-times  he  had  procured 
Most  strange  material  for  a  student's  use — 
As  skulls,  tliigh-bones,  a  murderer's  wasted  hand 
Hewn  from  the  gibbet,  and  such  other  ware 
As  sorcerers  do  employ.     Besides  these  things, 
He  owned  that  he  had  purchased  from  a  Moor 
A  curious  work  upon  geometry. 
And  sold  it  to  Firmilian, 

CHIEF    INQnSITOR. 

Can  the  stars 
Retain  their  place  within  the  firmament, 


12S  F  I  K  M  I  I.  I  A  X  . 

When  wickedness  like  this  is  wrought  below  ? 
Proceed,  Balthazar. 

FIRST    FAMILIAR. 

These  ])articnlnrs 
J)oin<i;  in  their  natnre  horrid  and  profane, 
Did  jMordecui  I'i^'ht  cheerfully  disclose. 
Yet  we,  remeiiihci'Ini^  what  the  vnlgate  saith, 
Touching  tlie  doubtful  witness  of  a  Jew 
Against  a  Christian,  did  esteem  it  fit 
To  make  more  ])erquisition.     For  that  end, 
I,  and  my  conn-ade,  Gil  of  Santillane, 
Sought  out  Firmiiian's  servant.     liim  we  found 
Within  a  wrne-shop — - 

OLD    INQUISITOR. 

Mark  that  well,  my  masters  ! 
For  three  score  years  and  ten  I've  lield  my  office, 
And  never  did  I  know  the  sorcerer  yet 


F  I  R  M  I  L  I  A  N  .  129 

Whose  servant  felt  not  a  perpetual  thirst. 
I  pray  you  let  that  fact  be  noted  down. 

CHIEF   INQUISITOK. 

It  shall  be  noted.     Well — what  followed  next? 

FIKST   FAMILIAR. 

Obedient  to  our  orders,  Gil  and  I, 

Albeit  habitual  shunners  of  the  cup, 

Did  somewhat  deviate  from  our  wonted  rule. 

And  made  slight  show  of  wassail.     Whereupon, 

This  Nicodemus,  young  Firniiliau's  knave, 

Did  gradually  to  us  some  part  disclose 

Of  his  employer's  practice. 

SECOND   FAMILIAR. 

Did  he  so  ? 
A  servant's  tale  is  damning  evidence 
Against  his  lord  !     What  said  this  Nicodemus? 
Stand  down,  Balthazar — Speak  thou,  Santillane. 


130  F  I  K  M  T  I.  I  A  N  . 

SECOND    FAMILIAR. 

He  told  lis  this — that  long  ago,  in  Wales, 

His  master  had  from  one  Plotinis  learned 

Most  wondrous  secrets :  that  on  Wednesday  nights 

lie  was  attended  bv  an  ugly  imp, 

Whose  outward  apparition  bore  the  stamp 

Of  an  en.ormous  hedge-hog. 

OLD  iNQUisrrou. 

I  remember 
The  like  was  said  of  Paracelsus  too, 
And  of  Cornelius.     I  myself  have  seen 
A  hedge-pig  suckled  l)y  a  Moorish  witch. 
Tiiat  must  have  been  about  the  year  sixteen. 
Or  two  years  Uitei".      Is  it  taken  down  ? 
Fur  three  score  years  and  ten  I've  held  my  office, 
And  never  knew  a  necromancer  yet 
But  dealt  in  liedge-hogs!     Is  it  taken  down? 


F  I  K  M  I  I.  T  A  X  .  131 

CHIEF   TNQUTSITOK. 

It  is,  my  reverend  brother.     Saiitillane — 
On  with  your  story. 

SECOND    FAMILIAE. 

Warily  lie  talked 
Of  mag-ic  circles,  skulls,  and  fumii^ations — 
(Jf  the  great  Devil,  and  his  sulphurous  stench  — 
Of  phantom  beavers,  and  of  bottle  imps ; 
Tiie  bare  recital  of  which  monstrous  things 
Made  each  particular  hair  to  stand  on  end, 
Like  quills  upon  the  fretful  porcupine. 
1  can  depone  no  further. 

OLD    INQUISITOR. 

Porcupines 
Are  worse  than  hedge-hoffs  ! 


i;^2  F  I  R  M  I  L  I  A  N. 

(■Hn:F    LNQUISITOK. 

Is  this  Nicodemus 
Still  safe  Avitliiji  your  reach  ? 

FIKST    FAMILIAR. 

Iliglit  holy  sir, 

lie  is.     AVe  deemed  it  wiser  to  defer 

Ilis  capture  till  wc  knew  your  reverend  pleasure, 

In  case  Firiuiliau  niiuht  take  sudden  wiiiff. 

Moreover,  I  have  something  yet  to  tell, 

Which,  if  not  touching  sorcery,  may  lean 
To  worse  than  heresy. 

(;hikf  inqfisitok. 

Tliy  care  is  i;i-oat. 
Tlion  art  oiii-  best  Familiar;  ami  I  tliiiik, 
K'en  as  thou  speak'st,  aiul  lettest  out  the  truth. 
The  fVightened  fiends  desei't  the  upi)er  sky 
And  calni  their  thunder  down.     Sav  out  thv  sav. 


F  I  K  M  I  L  I  A  N  .  13c 


FIEST   FAMILIAK. 


I  pray  your  reverend  worsliips  to  believe 

I  act  not  as  spy.     'Tis  not  for  me 

To  mark  tlie  twinkling  of  a  lady's  fan, 

To  lurk  behind  church  pillars,  or  to  note 

The  course  of  fervid  o-lances.     Such  thino-s  lie 

Beyond  my  office  ;  and  I  know  full  well 

That  they  are  oftentimes  assumed  to  hide 

Most  faithful  service  to  our  Holy  Church  ; 

And,  therefore,  I  repeat,  I  am  no  spy. 

CHIEF   INQUISITOR. 

I  have  still  found  thee — ^as  the  Church  hath  done- 
Discreet  within  thy  function.     Didst  thou  know 
Aught  that  might  appertain  to  one  of  us. 
Or  to  the  honor  of  our  nearest  kin, 
I  do  believe  tliat  thou  wouldst  rather  dare 
Expose  thyself  upon  the  stretching  rack 
Than  speak  out  openly. 


134  F  I  U  M  I  I.  I  A  N  . 

SEVERAL    raQUISITORS. 

We  do  believe  it ! 

FIRST   FAMILIAR. 

Therein  you  understand  me  thoroughly. 
I  am  the  poor  Familiar  of  this  House, 
And  for  the  movements  of  such  holy  sirs, 
And  of  their  households,  have  no  eyes  at  all, 
Save  at  their  pleasure.     But  Finnilian's  case 
Demands  a  full  divulgement. 

OLD    INQUISITOR. 

Very  right ! 
I  gather  from  this  talk  thorcV something  wrong 
About  Finnilian's  morals.     I  have  been 
For  three  score  years  and  ten  Inquisitor; 
And  always  have  observed  that  heretics 
Are  faultv  in  their  morals.     Tell  us  all. 


FIR  MI  LI  AN.  135 

FIRST  FAMILIAR. 

Three  weeks  ago — 'twas  but  a  week  before 

The  death  of  the  three  students — there  appeared 

Within  a  lonely  cottage  in  the  wood, 

Hard  bordering  on  the  skirts  of  Badajoz, 

An  Indian  maiden.     She  was  dark  as  night, 

And  yet  not  unalluring,  as  I  heard 

From  Santillane,  my  comrade — 

SECOND  FAMILIAR. 

Holy  sirs, 
I  swear  such  language  ne'er  escaped  my  lips  ! 
I  only  said  that  in  a  heathen's  eye 
She  might  find  favor. 

OLD   INQUISITOR. 

Doubtless  so  she  would. 
1  do  remember,  fifty  years  ago, 
A  very  comelv  damsel  of  that  kind. 


136  F  I  K  M  I  I>  I  A  N  . 

Purveyed,  I  think,  tVoni  inner  Africa — 
I  never  saw  a  more  voluptuous  shape. 
]iut  to  your  story — 

FIRST  FAMILIAR. 

Every  day  since  then 
Hath  young  Finnilian  stolen  to  her  bower 
With  utmost  secresy.     What  passetli  there 
I  know  not.     But  men  say  she  sings  by  night 
Mysterious  ditties  in  an  unknown  tongue, 
Of  such  unnatural  and  thrilling  sort, 
That  the  scared  nightingales  desert  their  boughs, 
And  evil  birds  of  omen  flit  around 
To  list  the  Indian's  music. 

CHIEF  INQUISITOR 

Is  it  so  ? 
Tliat  shall  be  also  looked  to  heedfully. 
The  fiend  hath  many  snares,  and  it  may  be 
That,  in  the  likeness  <>f  a  dusky  (lucon, 


F  I  K  M  I  r.  I  A  X  .  137 

lie  sends  an  agent  hither.     AVhat  I  know 
Of  this  Firuiilian  makes  me  fear  the  worst : 
Yet  it  were  wise  to  wait.     I'll  set  a  trap 
Shall  lure  him  to  his  ruin.     Go  we  hence ; 
And  in  the  inner  casket  of  our  hearts 
Be  all  our  secrets  locked.     Put  out  the  lights !    ' 
\The  torches^  are  extinguished. 


F  I  R  M  I  I,  I  A  N 


SCENE    XIII. 

Anioiuj  ihc  Moxnitains. 

Enter  Firmilian. 

Why  should  I  strive  to  comprehend  the  charm 

Of  savage  nature,  or  to  fill  my  mind 

With  thoughts  of  desolation,  meanly  filched 

Frojn  those  rude  rocks,  and  chasms,  and  cataracts  ? 

Whj',  none  but  fools  affect  to  seek  them  now 

For  the  mere  sense  of  grandeur.     To  a  painter, 

Von  crag  might  seem  magnificent  indeed, 

With  its  hold  outline.     A  geologist 

Would  but  regard  it  as  a  pillar  left 

I'o  mark  some  age  that  was  pro-Adamite, 

And,  witli  liis  hanimei',  excavate  the  bones 

Of  brutes  that  rovolled  in  ihe  oozv  slime, 

Kre  yet  a  bud  had  burst  in  Eden's  bower. 


F  I  U  M  I  I.  I  A  X  .  139 

Here  is  a  terrace  on  the  mountain  side, 

As  stately  as  the  ever-watched  approach 

Unto  the  palace  of  the  greatest  king. 

Yonr  man  of  science  cares  not  for  its  sweep, 

Nor  anght  around  that  might  attract  the  eye ; — 

He  calls  it  a  sea-margin,  and  exhumes 

The  withered  fragment  of  a  cockle-shell, 

In  proof  of  his  averment,  with  more  pride 

Than  if  he  stumbled  on  a  costly  gem. 

O,  there  is  room  for  infinite  debate 

In  a  stray  boulder;  and  the  jagged  streak 

Upon  the  surface  of  a  harmless  stone, 

May  be  the  Helen  to  some  future  host 

Of  glacier-theorists  ! 

Such  men  are  wise. 
They  overlook  the  outward  face  of  things  ; 
Seek  no  sensation  from  the  rude  desiffn 
Of  outward  beauty  ;  but  fulfil  their  task 
Like  moles,  who  loathe  the  gust  of  upper  air, 
And  burrow  underneath  ! 


140  1    I  K  M  I  I.  I  A  X  . 

Three  days  have  I 
Been  wandering  in  this  desert  wilderness 
In  search  of  inspiration.    Horrid  thoughts, 
Phantasms,  chiinjuras,  tortures,  inward  spasms, 
Disordered  spawn  of  dreams,  distracting  visions, 
Air-shrieks  and  haunting  terrors  were  my  aim — ■ 
Yet  nothing  comes  to  friglit  me  !     How  is  tliis  ? 
Grant  that  my  former  efforts  were  in  vain  ; 
At  least  the  death  of  yon  poor  Ilaverillo 
Might  be  a  mill-stone  tied  around  my  neck. 
And  siidv  me  to  despair !     It  is  not  so. 
I  rather  feel  triumphant  in  tlie  deed. 
And  draw  fresh  courage  tVom  tlio  tliought  of  it. 
Were  all  my  ci'editors  dis])osed  like  him, 
MethiidvS  the  sunshine  m-ouIu  l)e  warmer  still  ! 
Hold — Tx't  me  reckon  closely  with  myself! 
Could  my  weak  hand  [)ut  hack  the  clock  of  time 
To  the  same  point  whereon  its  index  lay 
When  first  the  thought  of  murder  crossed  my  soul — 
CouKl  1  undo,  even  by  a  single  word, 


F  I  K  M  I  L  I  A  N  . 


141 


All  my  past  actings,  and  recall  to  life 

The  three  companions  of  my  earlier  years— 

The  nameless  crowd  that  perished  in  the  church — 

The  guileless  poetaster — and  the  rest 

Who  indirectly  owe  their  deatlis  to  me — 

Would  I  exert  the  power  'i     Most  surely  not. 

Above  the  pool  that  lies  before  my  foot 

A  thousand  gnats  are  hovering— an  hour  hence 

They'll  drop  into  the  mud  !     Should  I  lament 

Tliat  things  so  sportive,  and  so  full  of  glee, 

So  soon  must  pass  away  ?     In  faith,  not  I ! 

They  all  will  perish  ere  the  sun  goes  down, 

And  yet  to-morrow  night  that  self-same  pool 

Will  swarm  with  thousands  more.  What's  done,  is 

I'll  look  on  it  no  further.  [done. 

But  my  work — 
That  grand  conception  of  my  intellect. 
Whereby  I  thought  to  take  the  woi-ld  hj  storm- 
That  firstling  of  my  soul— my  tragedy— 
What  shall  become  of  it  i 


142  F  I  K  M  I  L  I  A  N  . 

Alas !  I  fear 
I  have  mista'en  my  bent !     What's  Cain  to  me, 
Or  I  to  Cain  ?     I  cannot  realize 
His  wild  sensations — it  were  madness,  then, 
For  me  to  persevere.     Some  other  bard 
W^itli  weaker  nerves  and  fainter  heart  than  mine 
Must  gird  him  to  the  task.      Tis  not  for  me 
To  shrine  that  Jjage  of  history  in  song. 
And  utter  such  tremendous  cadences. 
That  the  mere  babe  who  hears  them  at  the  breast. 
Sans  comprehension,  or  the  power  of  thought. 
Shall  be  an  idiot  to  its  dying  hour  ! 
I  deemed  my  verse  would  make  pale  Hecate's  orb 
Grow  wan  and  dark ;  and  into  ashes  change 
The  I'adiant  star-dust  of  the  milky-way. 
1  deemed  that  pestilence,  disease,  and  death, 
AVould  follow  every  strophe — for  the  power 
Of  a  true  poet,  prophet  as  he  is, 
Should  rack  creation  ! 

Get  thee  gone,  my  dream — 


]'■  I  U  M  I  L  I  A  X  .  143 

My  long-sustaining  friend  of  many  days  ! 
Hencefortli  my  l>rain  shall  be  divorced  from  thee, 
Nor  keep  more  memory  of  the  wanton  past 
Than  one  who  makes  a  harem  of  his  mind, 
And  dallies  with  his  thoughts  like  concubines ! 

Yet  something  must  be  done.  'Twere  vile  for  me 
To  sink  into  inaction,  or  remain 
Like  a  great  harp  wherein  the  music  lies 
Unwakened  by  the  hand.     What  if  I  chose 
A  theme  of  magic  ?     That  might  take  the  ear, 
For  men  who  scarce  have  eyesight  to  discern 
"What  daily  passes  underneath  their  nose, 
Still  peer  about  for  the  invisible. 
'Twere  easy  now  to  weave  a  subtile  tale 
Of  ghosts  and  goblins,  mermaids,  succubi, 
Mooncalves  and  monsters — of  enchanted  halls. 
Wide-waving  tapestry,  haunted  corridors — 
Of  churchyards  shadowed  by  mysterious  yews. 
Wherein  white  women  walk  and  wring  their  hands — 
(Jf  awful  caverns  underneath  the  sea, 


144  FI  li  M  I  J,  I  AX. 

Lit  by  the  gliimuer  of  a  deinoirs  eyes — 

Of  skeletons  in  armor,  phantom  knights 

Who  ride  in  fairy  rings — and  so  revive 

The  faded  memories  of  our  childish  years 

"With  richer  color.     Bah  ! — the  time  is  ])ast 

"When  such-like  tales  found  audience.  Children  now 

Are  greatly  wiser  than  their  fatliers  were, 

And  prattle  science  in  the  nursery. 

llaw-head-and-bloody-bones  no  longer  scares 

The  inmate  of  the  cradle  into  rest ; 

And  that  tremendous  spectre  of  the  Nortli, 

The  chimney-haunting  Boo-man  comes  no  more, 

With  hideous  answer,  to  the  nurse's  call. 

Yet  something  do  I  knoAv  of  magic  too, 

And  might  have  further  sounded  in  its  deep, 

But  for  the  terror  that  o'ermastcred  mo 

In  my  first  essay.     Scarcely  had  I  read 

Ten  lines  of  incantation,  when  a  light, 

IJke  that  of  glow-woi'uis  pa^^ul•c<l  upon  graves, 

(ilared  from  the  sockets  of  u  ilef-hiess  skull. 


F  I  R  M  I  L  I  A  N  .  146 

And  antic  shapes  ran  howling  round  the  ring, 
And  scared  me  to  distraction.     With  the  fiend 
I'll  have  no  further  traffic  ;  for  I  dread 
Both  him,  and  that  which  is  opposed  to  him, 
The  ruthless  Inquisition.     I'll  no  more 
Of  magic  or  its  spells ! 

Wliat  other  theme 
Lies  ready  to  my  hand  ?  M'liat  impulse  stirs 
My  being  to  its  depths,  and  conjures  up 
(As  the  young  nymphs  from  sacred  fountains  rose) 
The  best  and  fairest  shapes  of  poetry  ? 
Why — love,  love,  love ! — the  master  of  the  world — 
The  blind  impetuous  boy,  whose  tiny  dart 
Is  surer  than  the  Parthian  javelin — 
Love,  whose  strong  best  all  living  things  obey — 
Love,  the  lord-paramount  and  prince  of  all 
The  heroes  of  the  whirling  universe. 
Was  it  not  love  that  vanquished  Hercules, 
What  time  he  writhed  in  Dejanira's  gown  ? 
Was  it  not  love  that  set  old  Trov  on  flame. 


146  F  I  R  M  I  T,  I  A  N  . 

Withdrew  Acliilles  from  the  (rrecian  camp, 
And  kept  Ulysses  bound  in  Circe's  bower? 
Was  it  not  love  that  held  great  Sauison  lirni 
Whilst  coy  Delilah  sheared  his  lusty  locks, 
tVnd  gave  him  powerless  to  the  Philistine '{ 
AVas  it  not  love  that  made  Mark  Antony 
Yield  up  his  kingdoms  for  one  fervid  kiss 
l''rom  Egypt's  ripest  Queen  ?     What  better  theme 
Could  be  proposed  than  this  ?     A  graduate  I, 
And  an  expert  one  too,  in  Cupid's  lore — 
What  hinders  me  to  raise  a  richer  song 
Than  ever  yet  was  heard  in  praise  of  love? 
Let  the  cold  moralists  say  what  they  will, 
ril  set  their  ju'actice  boldly  'gainst  1113'  verse, 
Aud  so  convict  them  of  liypocrisy. 
What  text-books  read  their  cliihhen  at  the  schools? 
Derive  they  Latin  from  a  hymnal  source, 
Or  from  tlie  works  of  rigid  anchorites? 
Not  so !     That  hog  of  p]picuriis'  stye. 
The  sensuous  Horace,  ushers  lliem  aloiiir 


FI  RM  I  L  I  A  N  .  1+T 

To  rancid  Ovid.     He  prepares  the  way 
For  li^ose  Catullus,  whose  voluptuous  strain 
Is  soon  dismissed  for  coarser  Juvenal. 
Take  we  the  other  language — Is  there  much 
Of  moral  fervor  or  devout  respect 
That  can  be  gleaned  from  old  Anacreon's  lays, 
Or  Sappho's  burning  starts?     What  pious  lore 
Can  the  alembic  of  the  sage  extract 
From  the  rank  filth  of  Aristophanes  ? 
Is  Lucian  holy  reading  ?     And,  if  not, 
Why,  in  the  name  of  the  old  garden-god, 
Persist  they  in  their  system  ?     Pure  indeed 
Must  be  the  minds  of  those  compelled  to  wade 
Through  all  the  dunghills  of  antiquity. 
If  they  escape  without  some  lasting  stain. 
What  do  onr  moralists?     To  make  things  ck\ar 
Which  otherwise  might  'scape  the  youthful  sense, 
They  write  Pantheons — wherein  you  may  read, 
In  most  exact  and  undisguised  detail. 
The  loves  <A'  Jove  willi  all  his-relatives. 


148  F  I  li  M  I  r,  I  A  N  . 

Besides  some  less  conspicuous  amours 

With  Danae,  Europa,  and  the  like. 

What  merrier  jests  can  move  the  schoolboy's  spleen, 

'J'lian  the  rich  tale  of  Vulcan  and  of  Mars  ; 

( )r  of  Apollo,  when,  in  hot  pursuit 

( )f  Daphne,  'stead  of  tresses  in  his  hand, 

He  fuund  a  garland  <>f  the  laurel  leaves? 

Well-thnmhed,  be  sure,  the  precious  pages  are 

Tliat  toll  of  Venus  and  of  Mercury  ! 

And  shall  the  men,  who  do  not  shrink  to  teach 

Such  saving  doctrine  to  their  tender  sons. 

Accuse  nie  if  I  shrine  the  same  in  verse. 

And  with  most  sweet  seductive  harmony, 

J'roclaim  the  reign  of  Love  o'er  all  the  world? 

llencefurward  then,  avaunt,  ye  direful  lho\ights 
That  have  oppressed  the  caverns  of  my  brain  ! 
I  am  discharged  from  guilt,  and  i'ree  from  blood 
Which  was  but  shed  through  misconceived  desire! 
How  glorious  is  the  lightness  of  the  soul 
That  i:;h';uiis  within  me  now  !      j  am  like  one 


F  I  K  M  I  L  1  A  N  .  14*J 

Who,  after  hours  of  horrid  darkness  passed 

Within  the  umbrage  of  a  thunder  cloud, 

Beholds  once  more  the  liquid  light  of  day 

Streaming  above  him,  when  the  splendid  sun 

Calls  up  the  vapors  to  his  own  domain. 

And  the  great  heap  moves  slowly  down  the  vale, 

Muttering,  in  anger,  for  its  victim  lost ! 

Now  could  I  roll,  as  gaily  as  a  child, 

On  the  fresh  carpet  of  the  unsown  flowers — 

Now  could  I  raise  my  voice  in  innocent  glee, 

And  shout  from  cataract  unto  cataract — 

But  that  a  single  thought  disturbs  me  yet : 

My  vow  to  Mariana — Will  she  bear 

That  frank  communion  which  I  must  achieve 

Ere  yet  my  song  is  perfects     She  is  proud, 

And  somewhat  overbearing  in  her  walk, 

Yet  there's  no  woman  past  the  power  to  tame. 

A  Count  of  Stolberg  once, — a  wedded  man. 

Whose  restless  disposition  drove  him  on 

To  wear  the  cross,  and  tiirht  in  Palestine — 


150  F  I  K  M  I  L  I  A  N  . 

Was  taken  ca})tive  by  an  Emir  tliere, 

And  'scaped  from  prison  solely  by  the  aid 

Of  the  one  daughter  of  his  enemy. 

Tis  said  that,  when  he  brought  the  damsel  home. 

The  Christian  matron  no  remonstrance  made, 

But  took  her,  like  a  sister,  to  her  heart, 

And  the  blest  three  lived  on  in  unison. 

Why  should  I  not  revive  the  earlier  days  ? 

AVhy  should  tiie  stately  Mariana  look 

More  coldly  upon  Lilian,  or  that  flower 

That  I  have  gathered  from  the  Afric  plains, 

Than  Rachel  on  her  handmaid  ?     I  can  quote 

Suflicient  texts  to  still  her  first  harangue. 

If  she  be  angry.     Will  she  so  endure? 

Kind  Cupid,  aid  !     In  this,  I  must  be  sure  ! 

[Msit. 


FIRMILIAN.  151 


SCENE    XIV. 
A  Garden. — Firmilian.    Mariana. 

FiRMILIAN. 

M  J  Mariana  I 

MARIANA. 

O  my  beautiful ! 
My  seraph  love — my  panther  of  the  wild — 
My  moon-eyed  leopard — my  voluptuous  lord  ! 
O,  I  am  sunk  within  a  sea  of  bliss, 
And  find  no  soundings ! 

Firmilian. 

Shall  I  answer  back  ? 
As  the  great  Earth  lies  silent  all  the  night, 
And  looks  with  hungry  longing  on  the  stars, 


152  F  I  K  M  I  L  I  A  N  . 

Whilst  its  huge  heart  beats  on  its  granite  ribs 
AVith  measured  pulsings  of  delirious  joy — 
So  look  I,  Mariana,  on  thine  eyes  ! 

MARIANA. 

Ah,  dearest,  wherefore  are  we  fashioned  thus? 
I  cannot  always  hang  around  thy  neck 
And  })lant  vermilion  kisses  on  thy  brow  ; 
1  cannot  clasp  thee,  as  yon  ivy  bush — 
Tuo  happy  ivy  ! — holds,  from  year  to  year, 
Tlie  stalwart  oak  within  her  firm  embrace, 
Mixing  her  tresses  fondly  up  with  his, 
Like  some  young  Jewish  maid  with  Absalom's. 
Nay,  hold,  Firmilian  !  do  not  pluck  that  rose  ! 

FIEMILIAN. 

Why  not  'i  it  is  a  fair  one. 

MARIANA. 

Are  fair  things 


FIRMILTAN.  153 

Made  only  to  be  plucked  ?     O  fie  on  thee  ! 
I  did  not  think  my  lord  a  libertine  ! 

FIRMILIAN. 

Yet,  sweetest,  with  your  leave  I'll  take  the  rose, 
For  there's  a  moral  in  it. — Look  you  here. 
'Tis  fair,  and  sweet,  and  in  its  clustered  leaves 
It  carries  balmy  dew :  a  precious  flower, 
And  vermeil-tinctured,  as  are  Hebe's  lips. 
Yet  say,  my  Mariana,  could  j-ou  bear 
To  gaze  for  ever  only  upon  this, 
And  fling  the  rest  of  Flora's  casket  by  ? 

MARIANA. 

No,  truly — I  would  bind  it  up  with  more, 

And  make  a  fitting  posy  for  my  breast. 

If  I  were  stinted  in  my  general  choice, 

I'd  crop  the  lily,  tender,  fresh,  and  white, — 

The  shrinking  pretty  lily—  and  would  give 

Its  modest  contrast  to  the  gaudier  rose. 

7 


154  F  I  K  M  I  r.  !  A  N. 

What  next  ?  some  flower  that  does  uot  love  the  day, 
The  dark,  full-scented  night-stock  well  might  serve 
To  join  the  other  two. 

FIRMILIAN. 

A  sweet  selection  ! 
Think'st  thou  they'd  bloom  together  on  one  breast 
With  a  united  fragrance  ? 

MARIANA. 

Wherefore  not  ? 
It  is  by  union  that  all  things  are  sweet. 

FIRMILIAN. 

Thou  speakest  well !     I  joy,  my  Mariana, 

To  fi^id  tliy  spirit  overleaps  the  pale 

Of  this  mean  world's  injurious  narrowness! 

Never  did  Socrates  })roclaiiii  a  truth 

More  beautiful  than  welled  from  out  thy  lips — - 

"  It  is  bv  union  that  all  thino-s  are  swoet." 


F  1  K  M  I  I.  I  A  K 


155 


Thou,  darling,  art  my  rose— my  dewy  rose— 
The  which  I'll  proudly  wear,  but  not  alone. 
Dost  comprehend  me  ? 

MARIANA. 

Ha  !  Fir  mill  an — 
How  my  eyes  dazzle  ! 

FIRMILIAN. 

Let  me  show  you  now 
The  lily  I  have  ta'en  to  bind  with  thee. 

•  \He  Irings  LiLiAia  f/'07/i  the  Summer-house. 

,     MARIANA. 

Is  this  a  jest,  Firmilian  ? 

FLRMILIAN. 

Could  I  jest 
With  auffht  so  fair  and  delicate  as  this  ? 
Xav,  come— no  coyness  I     Both  of  yon  embrace. 


150  F  I  K  :m  I  L  I  A  X. 

Tlieii  to  my  heart  of  hearts — 

MARIANA. 

Soft  you  a  moment ! 
Metliiiiks  the  posy  is  not  yet  complete. 
Say,  for  tlie  sake  of  argument,  I  share 
M}^  rights  with  this  pale  beauty — (for  she's  pretty  : 
Although  so  fragile  and  so  frail  a  thing, 
That  a  mere  puff  of  April  wind  would  mar  her) — 
AVhere  is  the  night-stock? 

FiRMiLiAN  hrhigs  Indiana  from  tJie  tool-house. 

Here ! 

MARIANA. 
/ 

A  tiltliy  n  egress  ! 

Ahiiiniiiahie ! 

LILIAN, 

!>r(.'roy  on  me!   what  hlnlilicr  li]is  slio  has! 


F  I  K  M  I  I.  I  A  N  .  157 

MAKIANA,  furiously  to  FIRMILIAN. 

You  nasty  thing  !     Is  this  your  poetry — 

Your  high  soul-scheming  and  philosophy  ? 

I  hate  and  loathe  you  !     {To  Indiana.) — Rival  of 

my  shoe, 
Go,  get  thee  gone,  and  hide  thee  from  the  day 
That  loathes  thine  ebon  skin  !     Firmilian — 
You'll  hear  of  this  !     My  brother  serves  the  king. 

LILIAN. 

My  uncle  is  the  chief  Inquisitor, 

And  he  shall  know  of  this  ere  curfew  tolls ! 

What !     Shall  I  share  a  husband  with  a  coal  'i 

MARIANA. 

Right,  girl !     I  love  thee  even  for  that  word — 
The  Inquisition  makes  most  rapid  work, 
And,  in  its  books,  tliat  caitiff's  name  is  d(iwn  ! 


1  58  F  I  IJ  M  I  L  r  A  N  . 

FIRMILIAN. 

Listen  one  moment !     Wlien  1  was  a  babe, 
And  in  my  cradle  puling  for  my  nm-se, 
There  fell  a  gleam  of  glory  on  the  floor, 
And  in  it,  darkly  standing,  was  a  form — 

MARIANA. 

A  negress,  probably  !     Farewell  awhile — 
When  next  we  meet — the  faggot  and  the  pile ! 
Come,  Lilian  ! 

\Ji!xeunt. 

INDIANA. 

1  shake  from  head  to  foot  with  sore  aifright — 
AVhat  will  become  of  me? 

FIRMILIAN. 

Who  cares?     Good  nio-ht! 
[Scene  closes. 


FIRM  I  LI  AN.  159 


SCENE    XV. 
A  Bomren  Moor. — Night — Mist  and  fog. 

Enter  Firmilian. 

They're  hot  upon  my  traces  !     Tlirough  the  mist 
I  heard  their  call  and  answer — and  but  now, 
As  I  was  crouching  'neatli  a  hawthorn  bush, 
A  dark  Familiar  swiftly  glided  by, 
His  keen  eyes  glittering  with  the  lust  of  death. 
If  I  am  ta'en,  the  faggot  and  the  pile 
Await  me  !     Horror  !     Rather  would  I  dare, 
Like  rash  Empedocles,  the  Etna  gulf. 
Than  writhe  before  the  slaves  of  bigotry. 
Where  am  I  ?     If  my  mind  deceives  me  not, 
Upon  that  common  where,  two  years  ago, 
An  old  blind  beggar  came  and  craved  an  alms. 
Thereby  destroying  a  stupendous  thought 


160  F  I  R  M  I  r,  I  A  N  . 

Just  burstiiifj  in  my  mind — a  glorious  l)ud 
Of  poesy,  but  blasted  ere  its  bl(.»om  ! 
1  bade  the  old  fool  take  the  leftward  path, 
AV^'hich  leads  to  the  deep  quarry,  where  he  fell- 
At  least  I  deem  so,  for  I  heard  a  splash — 
But  I  was  gazing  on  the  gibbous  moon. 
And  durst  not  lower  my  celestial  flight 
To  care  for  such  an  insect-worm  as  he  ! 

How  cold  it  is  !     The  mist  comes  thicker  on. 
Ha  ! — what  is  that  ?     I  see  around  me  lights 
Dancing  and  flitting,  yet  they  do  not  seem 
Like  torches  either — and  there's  music  too! 
I'll  pause  and  listen. 

Chorus  of  Ignks  Fatui. 

Follow,  follow,  follow  ! 
Over  hill  and  o\er  hollow  ; 
It  is  ours  to  lead  the  way. 
When  a  sinner's  footsteps  stray — 
Cheering  him  with  liiiht  and  sons:. 


F  I  R  M  I  L  I  A  N 


161 


On  his  doubtful  path  along. 

Hark,  hark  !     The  watch-dogs  bark. 
There's  a  crash,  and  a  splash,  and  a  blind  man's  cry, 
But  the  Poet  looks  tranquilly  up  at  the  sky ! 

FIRMILIAN. 

Is  it  the  echo  of  an  inward  voice, 
Or  spirit-words  that  make  my  flesh  to  creep, 
And  send  the  cold  blood  choking  to  my  heart  ? 
I'll  shift  my  ground  a  little— 

Chorus  of  Ignes  Fatui. 

Flicker,  flicker,  flicker ! 
Quicker  still,  and  quicker. 
Four  young  men  sate  down  to  dine, 
And  still  they  passed  the  rosy  wine ; 
Pure  was  the  cask,  but  in  the  flask 
There  lay  a  certain  deadly  powder — 
Ha !  his  heart  is  beating  louder  ! 
Ere  the  day  had  passed  away. 


162  )•'  1  K  M  1  L  I  A  N  . 

Garcia  Perez  lifeless  lay ! 
Hark  !  his  mother  wails  Alphonzo, 
Never  more  shall  strong  Alonzo 
Drink  the  wine  of  Ildefonso. 

FIRMILIAN. 

O  horror  !  horror !  'twas  by  me  they  died  ; 
I'll  move  yet  farther  on — 

•  Chorus  of  Ignes  Fatli. 

In  the  vaults  under 
Bursts  the  red  thunder  ; 
Up  goes  the  cathedral, 
Priest,  people,  and  l»edi-al  ! 
IIo!  ho!  ho!  ho! 

FIKMILIAN. 

My  hniin  is  whirling  like  a  potter's  wheel ! 
O  Nemesis 


F  I  R  M  I  L  I  A  N  .  163 

Chorus  of  Ignes  Fatdi, 

The  muses  sing  in  their  charmed  ring, 
And  Apollo  weeps  for  him  who  sleeps, 
Alas  !  on  a  hard  and  a  stony  pillow — 
Haverillo  !  Haverillo ! 

FIRMILIAN. 

I  shall  go  mad  ! 

CJwrus  of  Ignes  Fatui. 

Give  him  some  respite— give  him  some  praise — 
One  good  deed  he  has  done  in  his  days ; 
Chaunt  it,  and  sing  it,  and  tell  it  in  chorus — 
He  has  flattened  the  cockscomb  of  ApoUodorus  ! 

FIRMILIAN. 

Small  comfort  that !     The  death  of  a  shard-beetle, 
Albeit  the  poorest  and  the  paltriest  thing 
That  crawls  round  refuse,  cannot  weigh  a  grain 


1 64  F  I  K  M  I  L  I  A  N 


Against  the  ponderous  avalanche  of  guilt 
That  hangs  above  me !  O  nie  miserable  ! 
I'll  grope  my  way  yet  further. 


CJunms  of  Ignes  Fatui. 

Firmilian  !  Firmilian ! 
What  have  you  done  to  Lilian  ? 
There's  a  cry  from  the  grotto,  a  sob  by  the  stream, 


A  woman's  loud  wailing,  a  little  babe's  scream 
How  fared  it  with  Lilian, 
In  the  pavilion, 
Firmilian,  Firmilian  ? 

FIRMILIAN. 

Horror !  I'm  lost ! — 

Chorus  of  Tonus  Fatui. 

Ho!  ho!  ho! 
Deep  in  the  snow 
Lies  a  black  maidun  iVoiu  Africa's  shore! 


FIRM  I  LI  AN.  165 

Hasten  and  shake  her — 
You  never  shall  wake  lier — 
She'll  roam  throngh  the  glens  of  the  Atlas  no  more ! 
Stay,  stay,  stay  ! 
This  way — this  way — 
There's  a  pit  before,  and  a  pit  behind, 
And  the  seeing  man  walks  in  the  path  of  the  blind  ! 
[FiRMiLiAN^ /(///.<?  inioilic  quarry.     TJoe  Iones 
Fatui  fiance  a.'i  the  curtain  descends. 


THE     END. 


Ji 


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